


What Kind of Man (Loves Like This) ?

by levi_cas_tho



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, M/M, Minor Character Death, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-Canon, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 09:37:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 31,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20776436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levi_cas_tho/pseuds/levi_cas_tho
Summary: It ain't queer if it's just fooling around, right?⋆⋆✰⋆⋆Title from a song by Florence and the Machine





	1. And With One Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you to my wonderful beta Madeleine_Ward. Go check out some of her fics!

It all starts in the summer of ‘34, the weekend after Steve’s 16 th birthday. Bucky had missed Steve’s actual birthday, having been unable to take a day off work at the docks, so he’d splurged the money to take Steve out to Coney Island as an apology, despite Steve’s protests.  _ C’mon, Stevie, _ he had wheedled,  _ let me treat my best pal to a day out on the beach, just the two of us. _

Steve was no match for the pleading look in Bucky’s eyes—never had been—and it wouldn’t have taken much to convince him, anyhow. He felt like he’d hardly seen Buck this summer, between their jobs and their families and all the dates Bucky went on with dames. (Steve tried not to think about that last part, for reasons he didn’t like to disclose even to himself.) So that’s how they end up sitting on the beach, licking at their ice cream cones. The sunset illuminates their figures in a golden glow; the sweltering heat from earlier in the day was just starting to cool down to a more reasonable level.

Bucky’s cheeks are flushed pink from happiness and exertion, and Steve admires the sight as discreetly as he can, drinking in the view of Bucky’s golden skin and chocolate hair and gray-blue eyes. All the work he’s put in hauling crates around down at the docks is beginning to show, his lean frame filling out with muscles. Steve mouth waters, and it isn’t because of the ice cream, that’s for damn sure.

He flushes with embarrassment and looks away, staring out at the waves crashing along the shore of their secluded patch of beach. Sunlight glints off the water, making it glitter; the only sounds in the air the distant thrum of the city and the flock of birds swooping over the water, hoping to catch a meal.

“Ain’t it beautiful,” Buck says, gesturing widely at the ocean and the orange sky.

Steve glances over at him and blushes again. “Yeah,” he croaks in agreement, Bucky’s pearly teeth flashing in the light, “sure is.”

Bucky grins and shakes his head. “I’d live out here if I could; get away from all the bustle of the city,” he sighs wistfully, and Steve snorts.

“Buck, you wouldn’t survive without the city. I’d give you maybe a week before you came running back to the soda shops and the busy streets and the excitement.”

Bucky hums thoughtfully. “Guess you’re right,” he admits with a sly grin, “after all, there’s no dames out here.”

Steve’s smile falters slightly, but he looks away to hide it before Buck can see, nodding sagely. “Right.”

“Of course,” Bucky goes on, “I wouldn’t need any dames if I had you with me instead.”

Steve’s eyes widen and blink at Bucky in surprise. “Buck—you don’t mean that, c’mon—”

“I do!” Bucky protests, still grinning. “Think about it...ice cream, the beach, and my best friend at my side. What else could I need?” He flings his arms out dramatically to prove his point, accidentally losing his grip on his cone and sending it flying into the sand a few feet away. Steve bursts out laughing at the shocked look on Bucky’s face. “Well, shit,” Bucky says, and Steve laughs harder.

“Aw, Buck,” he says between giggles, “don’t pout like that. Here, you can have the rest of mine.”

He holds out his own cone and shakes it insistently when Bucky doesn’t take it. “Stevie, I can’t take your ice cream from you, this whole day is supposed to be for  _ you _ —” he protests, but Steve shakes his head.

“Take it,” Steve insists, “I’m getting’ kinda full anyways, honest. And besides, everyone knows Bucky Barnes can’t go without his sweets. You’ll get the shakes if you don’t get your fix.”

Bucky rolls his eyes but snatches the ice cream cone out of Steve’s hand. “Thanks, punk,” he huffs, slinging an arm around Steve’s shoulders to haul him closer. Steve goes willingly and tips his head to rest against Buck’s body, pleased and content as they sit in comfortable silence for a while. Steve thinks about maybe drawing the scene of the ocean when he gets home, but he knows he’ll probably just end up doodling sketches of Bucky instead, just like he always does.

Eventually Bucky finishes off the last of his cone and shifts a bit. “Hey, Stevie?” He turns to catch Steve’s gaze. Steve glances back up at him warmly and quirks a brow.

“Yeah, Buck?”

“It’s just—” Bucky purses his lips and shifts again, “I mean, you know that I’d always choose you over some dame, right, Stevie?”

Steve blinks at the earnest expression on Bucky’s face. He did know that, truly, but sometimes… well, it was nice to be reminded. “Yeah, Buck,” he mumbles.

Bucky beams at him, and Steve feels his breath catch. It never fails to surprise him, just how gorgeous Bucky is. Sure, he has freckles and a crooked tooth and unruly hair, but to Steve, each and every one of those things is perfect. Involuntarily, he finds his gaze dropping down to Bucky’s plush lips, the bottom one a bit ragged from Bucky’s nervous tendency of chewing on it, a habit that distracts Steve to no end.

“Steve?” Bucky murmurs, voice as soft as his lips look.

Years later, Steve still won’t be sure why he did it, why all his hard-earned resistance chooses that moment to crumble. But for whatever reason, he tips forwards and smushes his lips clumsily against Bucky’s, gasping at the way they feel against his own. He’s dreamed of this moment countless times, but the fantasies never measured up to this, never could, because this isn’t a dream, it’s real life.

_ This isn’t a dream. It’s real life. _

All at once reality catches up to Steve, and he jerks back harshly, scrambling backwards against the sand. Bucky is gaping at him with wide eyes, completely taken aback.

“I’m sorry,” Steve gasps out, chest already constricting with panic, “I’m so sorry, Buck, shit, please, I—”

“Steve,” Bucky interrupts, looking concerned, “hey, it’s—”

Steve barely even hears him, the blood rushing in his ears louder than the crashing of the waves. “Oh my God, I just ruined everything, didn’t I, Bucky—”

“ _ Steve _ —"

Steve can feel himself working his way into an asthma attack, chest heaving and tears prickling at his eyes. “I—” 

His babbling gets cut off as Bucky practically tackles him back into the sand. The little bit of air left in Steve’s lungs gets sucked right out when Bucky covers his lips with his own.

Steve makes a strangled noise of surprise, but Bucky doesn’t stop, just works Steve’s mouth open and slips his tongue inside. Steve melts into the sensation, tension draining away under the press of Bucky’s lips. Bucky pulls back enough to grin down at him. “There you go,” he breathes, “just calm down, bud. Jesus, you always gotta be so dramatic, dontcha, Stevie?”

He doesn’t let Steve reply, just swoops down to kiss him again, this time softer than before. It takes everything Steve has to push weakly at Bucky’s chest. 

“Buck,” he gasps when Bucky eases back, “what—I—you  _ like _ me?”

Bucky huffs and rolls his eyes, but Steve can see the blush high on his cheeks, the nervousness in his eyes. “’Course. Gorgeous guy like you, what’s not to like?”

Steve flushes and glares at him, trying to squirm away, certain Bucky is just making fun of him. “That ain’t funny, Buck...”

“I ain’t joking.” Bucky looks down at him earnestly, expression open and honest. “I’d never kid about something like this, Stevie, jeez...what kinda friend do you think I am?”

Steve falters, feeling somewhat chastised. “I just, I’m—”

“Perfect,” Bucky interrupts resolutely. “You’re perfect, is what you are, and I won’t stand to hear you say otherwise.”

⋆⋆✰⋆⋆

Steve feels as if he’s floating for days afterwards; a bounce in his step that’s rarely been there before, not since he was a kid. His Ma notices the change—of course she does—but Steve stutters out some excuse that he doesn’t even remember now. She hadn’t seemed to believe him, but she doesn’t ask him about it again, either, seemingly content with the fact that he’s at least happy.

When Friday rolls around—Bucky’s first day off since they last saw each other—Steve is nearly beside himself with anticipation. He spends an hour in front of their cracked mirror, scrutinizing his appearance. He doesn’t quite like what he sees, but he fluffs up his hair and pinches at his cheeks to give them some color anyway, figuring the effort might help. He even goes as far as to put on some nice clothes (nice meaning with a minimal amount of holes or stains), something he’s never thought much about while getting ready to hang out with Buck.

When a knock finally soundson the door, Steve practically trips over himself trying to get to it. He unlatches the deadbolt and flings it open, beaming when he sees Bucky standing there. “Heya, Stevie,” he greets charmingly as he waltzes in, “how’ve you been? Where’s your Ma at?”

“Work,” Steve explains absently, trailing his gaze up and down Bucky’s form. He looks good, real good, wearing one of the nicer dress shirts his dad had given him recently. The sleeves hug his biceps, and the buttons are undone just enough for Steve to catch a glimpse of the smooth golden skin of his chest. He looks back up at Bucky’s face to find him blushing, shifting a bit under Steve’s scrutiny. He even did his hair up, Steve realizes, and he grins broadly. “What’re you all dolled up for?” he asks jokingly, and Bucky’s face goes unreadable for a moment before he looks away.

When he looks back, there’s a cocky smile plastered across his face. “Aw, you know, I just came straight here from a date is all,” he says casually, moving to sit down on the couch. The springs creak beneath his weight but thankfully don’t give out.

Steve, meanwhile, feels as if he’s been frozen in place. “A date?” His voice falls flat.

“Yeah,” Buck goes on, oblivious, “with that Marie Rose girl. You know, the Italian one with the curly brown hair? She’s a real looker, a knock-out, really.”

Steve’s heart sinks through the floorboards and all the way into the dirt five stories below. “Oh.”

“I’m thinkin’ about going steady with her, she’s really swell. She mentioned having a sister a year younger too, if you want me to put a word in for ya?” He looks at Steve expectantly.

“No,” Steve says softly, voice sounding distant even to his own ears. “No, that’s alright, thanks. I just—you know what, I think I’m coming down with something, Buck, can we do this another time?”

Bucky stands back up, eyeing Steve with concern. “Really? What’s wrong?” He steps forward with his hand out as if to take Steve’s temperature. Steve can’t help but stumble back, away from Bucky and his confusing actions. Bucky stops short, dropping his hand back to his side. “Steve?” he asks, sounding hurt and uncertain.

Steve feels stupid and pathetic. How could he have possibly believed, even for a second, that Bucky could ever want someone like him? The back of his throat burns and he turns away as tears prick at his eyes. He won’t cry in front of Bucky. He won’t.

“Stevie?” Bucky prods from behind him, and Steve shakes his head sharply.

“Leave, Bucky.”

“Stevie, c’mon, I—”

“ _ Leave _ .” He spins back around to face Bucky, not caring about the distraught expression on his friend’s face. Well, that’s what he tells himself at least, but some of the anger drains out of him at the sight. “Please, Bucky, will you just go? Please?”

Bucky falters, obviously wanting to protest, but Steve rarely begs for anything unless it’s important, and they both know it. “I—yeah, okay, I’ll come back tomorrow, alright? After work. We can um, we can talk about it.”

So Bucky  _ does _ know what Steve’s upset about. The thought makes him feel even more pathetic, and he looks down at his shoes. “Yeah, whatever.”

“It’s— I really am sorry, Steve, I just—well, I’ll save it for tomorrow, I guess,” he backtracks when Steve tenses. “I’ll um, I’ll see you then.”

Steve can feel Bucky’s gaze on him right up until the moment the door creaks shut, but he doesn’t look back. The second he’s certain Bucky is gone he buries his face in his hands, wondering what on earth he did to mess this whole thing up before it even started.

⋆⋆✰⋆⋆

The thing is, you see, is that Bucky works down at the  _ docks _ . He hears the jokes the other guys make, the ones about putting queers in their place, about hunting them down for fun. And late at night, he sees other guys, too, ones shadowed in dark alleys getting up to things that could get them arrested at best. He tries not to think about it, tries to push away the dread and avert his eyes.

“It’s like this, you see, kid,” Johnny, one of the older workers, tells him one day, not even a week after he’d kissed Steve. “Using a fella to get off is one thing. We’ve all got urges, and sometimes it’s just easier to get a friend to help you out, instead ‘a going out and tryna find some dame. But the  _ queers _ —they do way more than that, ya see. They kiss each other, fuck each other, hell, some of them are even delusional enough to think that they’re  _ in love _ with each other.” He snorts. “As if anything that perverted could be love. Now, you listen close kid, if any of those queers that lurk around here give you any trouble, you come to us. We’ll set ‘em straight for ya.”

Bucky just nods and prays that he doesn’t look as sick as he feels. The image of Steve sprawled out beneath him in the sand, lips slick and cheeks flushed, rises unbidden. He pushes it away and tries to act like nothing is wrong.

So, the thing is, Bucky knows they gotta be careful. Not just with what they do in public, but with what they do at home, too. Because Bucky isn’t catholic, but Steve is, and Bucky’s heard about what the bible says. He knows that if Stevie isn’t careful he’ll damn himself to hell, and if anyone deserves to go to heaven, it’s Steve.

As long as they keep it cool, as long as it’s just two friends having some fun, they’ll be fine. But anything more than that, anything more than kisses and fumbling hands, and they’ll be in trouble.

And if Bucky has one job, it's keeping Stevie outta trouble.

Of course, that doesn’t make him hate himself any less as he walks back from Steve’s place the very next day. God, he shouldn’t have gone about it like that. He thought it’d be easy, like ripping a bandaid off, but the look on Steve’s face…

Bucky sighs and runs a hand through his hair. He can fix this. Tomorrow, he’ll swing by the candy shop after work and go to Steve’s with some sweets and an apology. He just has to wait until tomorrow, after Steve’s had a chance to calm down.

⋆⋆✰⋆⋆

When he knocks on the door the next day, Steve’s ma opens the door with an apologetic smile. “Hello, Bucky. I’m afraid Steve isn’t feeling well today.”

Bucky shifts on his feet nervously. “Can I just talk to him for a second? I brought him some Mallo Cups.” He holds up the bag lamely, a hopeful smile on his face. Sarah bites her lip and sighs.

“Let me go see if he’s up to company,” she offers. Bucky waits anxiously as she disappears behind the door, when she comes back, she shakes her head. “I’m sorry, dear, today’s just no good. Maybe tomorrow? I’ll be at work around this time, and it’ll do him good not to be alone.”

Bucky’s face falls. “I—yeah, okay. Can you just give the candies to him?” She nods and takes them from his hands. “Thank you, ma’am. Have a nice day, and tell Steve I hope he feels better, please.”

She smiles tiredly at him. “Will do. Say hello to your mother for me.”

Bucky sulks down the street back to his own place, hands shoved deep into his pockets and lips twisted. Okay, so Steve’s still mad. Bucky can’t really blame him for that, after what he did.

He’ll just have to try again tomorrow.

⋆⋆✰⋆⋆

The next day, no one answers the door at all, despite the fact that Bucky can clearly see the light on through Steve’s window from the ground below. And the day after that, Bucky gets caught up at work and doesn’t have time to drop by. And the day after  _ that, _ Bucky is forced to give up on banging on Steve’s door after old Ms. O’Connell sticks her head out down the hall and hollers at him to stop making a ruckus.

By the end of the week, Bucky has an anxious pit in his stomach that won’t go away. Is Steve really  _ that _ mad at him? To the point that he won’t even let Bucky explain himself? What if this is it, what if Bucky had messed up for good this time? What if Steve never talks to him again?

It’s that last thought that drives Bucky to climb up the rickety fire escape to Steve’s room after a week of not seeing hide nor hair of Steve. He peeks through the window and sees Steve sitting on his bed, sketching. A small part of Bucky relaxes at knowing that Steve’s okay, that he doesn’t look ill or in pain. But another part of him panics even more, because if Steve isn’t sick, then he really  _ has _ just been avoiding Bucky.

Bucky taps lightly on the glass and Steve startles, looking around the room before catching sight of Bucky waving sheepishly. Steve’s mouth drops open in surprise, then his face hardens, and for a minute Bucky fears that Steve will just leave him out there.

He doesn’t though, of course he doesn’t. Instead he scrambles up and strides over to yank the window open. “What the hell are you doing, Buck?” he hisses, stepping back so Bucky can slip through.

Bucky doesn’t slip as much as clamber to the floor ungracefully, but he picks himself up with a slight blush and stands to face Steve. “I needed to talk to ya, but  _ someone _ hasn’t been answering the door. You planning to ignore me for the rest of your life?”

Steve crosses his arms stubbornly. “Maybe I was.”

The weak teasing expression Bucky had plastered on his face falls, replaced by panic, because  _ God _ , was Steve really gonna avoid him forever? But then Steve looks at his face and sighs, deflating a bit.

“I woulda talked to you eventually, Buck,” he mumbles, “I just…”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky blurts out, looking at Steve imploringly. “I’m so sorry, Stevie, I never shoulda acted like that. I was a real jerk.”

Steve looks at him with hurt in his eyes, and the sight just about breaks Bucky’s heat. “Then why’d ya do it? Was it… did you even mean it, that night? Did you even want me? Or was this all some kinda big joke to you—?”

“God, Stevie, no!” Bucky interrupts. “It wasn’t a joke, I wouldn’t do that to you. And I  _ do _ want you, so damn much, it’s just—I mean, c’mon Stevie, we gotta be realistic here. You know how the world is, how people feel about two fellas being together. We can’t...we can’t be like that, not really, not in the way you’re thinking.”

Steve’s face twists and he looks away. “So that’s it then? We just go back to being friends, pretend that nothing ever happened?”

_ Yes _ , is what Bucky should say,  _ yes, let’s do that and be best pals and nothing more. It’s safer that way. _ Those are the words that  _ should _ come out of his mouth, except they don’t. “No, no, it’s—” he says instead, “we can still have some fun, fool around a bit. We just can’t get too serious about it, is all.”

“...Fool around,” Steve repeats skeptically, squinting at Bucky. 

Bucky flushes under the scrutiny. “Yeah, you know, just kiss and stuff. Help, um, help each other out. But just, you know, keep seein’ girls too.”

Steve shakes his head and looks away, and Bucky holds his breath, certain he’s about to be rejected. And maybe that would be for the best, anyhow, no matter how much he wants to hold Steve and kiss him and get his hands on him. But Steve sighs and peeks up at Bucky through his lashes ( _ his gorgeous, sinful lashes, good lord _ ), and says, “I dunno. I gotta think about it, Buck.”

Bucky nods eagerly. “Yeah, yeah, of course. Whatever you need. Just—don’t shut me out again, okay? Please. You’re my best pal, no matter what, and I need you.”

Steve blushes and nods. “Okay. Um… I was about to make some soup for dinner, if you want some…”

“Yes!” Bucky says, maybe a bit too enthusiastically. “Yeah, I’d love to.”

Steve smiles shyly at him and leads him out into the kitchen, and Bucky thinks that maybe, everything might just turn out okay.

⋆⋆✰⋆⋆

Steve gives it a few weeks, tries to get his thoughts and emotions in order. He’s not sure he likes the idea of being Bucky’s thing on the side and nothing more. But he also understands Bucky’s concerns, and he really  _ really _ wants to kiss him again. At night he replays the feeling of Bucky’s slick lips against his, and usually ends up guiltily slipping a hand beneath his pajamas. It makes it difficult to look Bucky in the eye the next day, but he can’t bring himself to stop.

For the most part, they go back to acting the way they always have, with a few exceptions. For one, there’s an ever-present tension thrumming between them, especially when one of them does something like bite their lip or stretch a certain way. Also, Bucky rarely mentions anything about dates or dames, which Steve appreciates deeply.

They’re sitting on the couch, listening to the Dodgers game play over the radio one sunny afternoon when Buck happens to be off of work. They both hang on the staticky words with rapt attention, cheering when the Dodgers score a point and jeering at the other team as if they’re at the stadium. Sarah isn’t there to tell them to quiet down, so they get to be as loud as they desire.

And loud they are, particularly when Cuccinello bats a homerun just minutes before the game ends, securing the Dodgers’ win. Bucky whoops victoriously, fist pumping in the air, and Steve laughs and joins him. In the jubilant moments afterwards, as the voices on the radio still rave about the hit, Steve gets a good look at Bucky’s smiling face and feels his breath catch.

Bucky is backlight by the light streaming through the window, casting the edges of his profile and the tips of his curly hair gold. The freckles on his cheeks stand out prominently, and there’s crinkles around his eyes from his broad grin. And his  _ lips,  _ God, his lips, stretched over pearly teeth…

“I’ve made my decision,” Steve blurts out.

Bucky blinks, taken aback, the smile still on his face as his expression turns questioning. “Decision about what, punk?”

“About us. I wanna be with you, even if it's just for fun,” Steve declares, then falters as Bucky looks at him, eyes wide. “That is, if you still want to—”

“Oh, I want to,” Bucky breathes, bringing his hand up to cup the back of Steve’s neck and tug him forwards. Their lips smush together clumsily, both of them greedy and eager after weeks of tense pining. Steve moans and fists his hands in Bucky’s hair, tugging at the strands. 

“Fuck, Stevie,” Bucky groans, and Steve smirks against his lips, pleased to have garnered such a reaction.

“Watch your fucking language,” he scolds playfully, and Bucky growls and nips at Steve’s lower lip.

“I’ll give you something to watch,” he mutters nonsensically.

They pull apart after what feels like hours, gasping for breath. Somehow they’ve ended up lying on the couch, Bucky on his back and Steve straddling him. Steve dips his head to rest on Bucky’s collarbone as he pants, a slight wheeze lacing each inhale.

“Hey,” Bucky says, rubbing a hand soothingly up and down Steve’s back, “you alright?”

Steve nods, cursing his asthma and weak lungs. “Yeah,” he gasps out, and Bucky sits up with Steve still in his lap, holding him carefully.

“You better be,” he says worriedly, “I don’t wanna have to explain to your Ma that you died because I’m too good at necking.”

Steve laughs despite himself, which only succeeds in making the wheezing worse.

“Shit,” Buck says, “sorry, buddy, that’s it, c’mon, just breathe.” He places one of Steve’s hands over his own chest and breathes in deep and slow. “Match my breaths, c’mon now.”

Steve gets ahold of himself and calms down, doing his best to copy the movement of Bucky’s chest beneath his palms.

“Good,” Bucky praises, “that’s it, just keep doin’ that, okay, dollface?”

If Steve’s face weren’t already red from exertion, he’d probably blush at the pet name. As it is, he just focuses on his breathing until it evens out and loses the wheeze. Bucky visibly relaxes beneath him, slumping back onto the couch and tipping his head back against the arm rest.

“Jesus, Stevie, way to give a guy a heart attack. Is that gonna happen every time we do this?”

Steve huffs. “I sure hope not.” 

Bucky laughs, and Steve smiles at the sight before leaning down to peck his lips.

“No more necking for you today, mister,” Bucky protests, pulling back after a moment. Steve pouts at him but secretly agrees, feeling worn out in the way he always does after an attack.

“Can we cuddle at least?” He asks petulantly, and Bucky hesitates for a split second before nodding.

“Yeah, okay. Your wish is my command, princess.”

Steve scowls and slaps him halfheartedly on the arm at the nickname, but with Bucky’s taste on his tongue and his warm body underneath him, Steve finds that he isn’t  _ too _ mad about it.


	2. Oh Mercy

They fall into a routine, Bucky sneaking into Steve’s room at night and coming over whenever Sarah isn’t home. They kiss and explore each other’s mouths and chests and necks any chance they get, giggling like school girls doing something naughty. The first time Bucky sticks a hand down Steve’s pants, Steve genuinely fears he might have a heart attack from the sensations. He doesn’t, though he does have to lie there and catch his breath for a few moments before returning the favor.

They don’t do anything romantic. Don’t go to the soda shop and sip at straws in the same milkshakes, don’t share candlelit dinners and tangle their legs under the table, don’t buy each other flowers and hold hands. But they do kiss, and they do fool around, and they do joke and laugh with each other like they always have, so Steve thinks that maybe he can be okay with that. Maybe.

Bucky still takes out girls, but he’s more careful about bragging about it around Steve, more gentle when he talks about them. He still drags Steve out on unsuccessful double dates, and Steve still mumbles to him bashfully about which gals he thinks are pretty and which movie stars he dreams about.

They have less time together when school starts back up, but they make do. The year seems to fly by, and before Steve can blink Bucky is graduating and landing himself a job helping at a local car manufacturer. It’s dangerous, with long hours and heavy machines, but Bucky brushes aside Steve’s worries and rambles on about how well it pays and how interesting it is and how it’s a miracle he got hired in the first place. The sea-salt scent that always clung to his skin gets replaced by the stench of smoke and oil, but Steve gets used to it, and soon he barely notices that it’s there at all.

⋆⋆✰⋆⋆

During the winter of Steve’s final year of school, he comes down with a bad case of pneumonia. What starts out as a small cough and a sniffle turns into him lying in bed, delirious with fever and hacking his lungs out. He spends a week drifting in and out of consciousness. He sees Bucky a lot, but he’s not quite sure the images are real, seeing as he also sees a lot of bright lights and shadowy figures creeping across the room. At one point, he thinks he sees Bucky at his bedside, clutching his hand desperately and sobbing. But that can’t be real, because Bucky hasn’t cried since he was eight, and Steve can’t even feel his hand.

Dream Bucky talks a lot, muttering and murmuring and pleading, but Steve can never make out the words.

His Ma is there sometimes too, looking angelic and worn thin. That’s normal enough, so Steve is fairly certain that she’s actually there.

The first time he returns to a state of near lucidity, his Ma is seated in a chair at his side, rosary in hand. She gasps when he focuses his eyes on her and manages what he thinks is a smile. “Hi, Ma,” he tries to croak, but his tongue is dry and heavy and his ears feel so stuffed that he can’t tell if the words come out right.

Sarah hushes him and runs a hand through his sweaty hair, tears already welling up in her eyes. “Don’t talk,  _ leanbh _ ,” she soothes, grabbing a glass of water from the bedside table. She brings it to his lips and Steve gulps the liquid down eagerly, not realizing how parched he is until it hits his lips. He hears his Ma telling him to slow down but doesn’t listen, and consequently starts choking before she can pull the cup away. The coughing is enough to wear him out again, and though he fights it, unconsciousness drags him back under.

The next time he comes to he feels much better, at least as far as wakefulness goes. Physically he’s sore all over. When he pries his eyes open they feel sticky and swollen. The room around him is dim, making him think it's either early in the morning or late in the evening, or maybe it's just cloudy out. He has no clue; isn’t sure what day it is, either.

He lets his head groggily tip to the side so he can see the rest of the room, and it’s only then that he realizes he’s not alone. Bucky is pacing the small space anxiously, hands fisted in his hair. Steve smiles at the sight of him, beautiful as always. “Buck,” he breathes dreamily, and Bucky jerks around to face him.

“ _ Stevie _ .” His voice is raw and devastated, as if he’s been crying, and the thought makes Steve frown. Bucky should never cry, not ever. He should be happy and loved and carefree all the time, Steve thinks. But Bucky certainly doesn’t look happy now, as he rushes to Steve’s bedside and drops to his knees beside him, scrabbling to grab a hold of Steve’s hand. “Steve, Stevie, oh my God.”

Steve feels his brows furrowing. “Wa’s wrong?” he asks, and Bucky glares at him through red rimmed eyes.

“ _ ‘What’s wrong?’ _ ” He parrots incredulously, sounding angry and devastated. “Are you kidding me, Steve?  _ What’s wrong _ is that you almost fucking  _ died _ .”

Steve blinks in surprise. “Oh.”

“That’s all you have to say?” Bucky’s voice is louder now, the sound of it resonating in Steve’s throbbing head and making him wince. “This is serious, Steve! Your ma called the priest in to read you your last rights not even two days ago!”

Steve squeezes Bucky’s hand weakly, trying to smile in what he hopes is a reassuring manner. “Isn’t the first time,” he reminds Bucky softly, and Bucky’s face twists.

“This time was different,” he insists. “I was so sure—I was so  _ scared _ , fuck, Stevie. Everyone was tellin’ me I had to start saying goodbye to you and I couldn’t—” His voice gives out and Steve’s heart throbs painfully in his chest at the sight of the tears welling up in Bucky’s eyes. He uses his weak grip to tug at Bucky’s hand until Bucky gets the message and clambers up onto the bed, clutching at Steve tightly and carefully all at once, as if he’s made of glass.

Steve runs a hand up Bucky’s back and into his lush hair, shushing his sobs gently. “’S okay, Buck,” he murmurs, trying to clear the fog from his brain because this is important, dammit. “’S alright, I’m right here, no reason to say goodbye. I ain’t goin’ nowhere, you hear? It ain’t the end of the line yet.”

Bucky heaves himself up on his elbows, one on either side of Steve’s head, and stares down at Steve desperately, drinking in the sight of him like a man dying of thirst. Steve stares back at him steadily and calmly, one side of his lips twitching up in a comforting smile.

“You really think I’m not stubborn enough to beat death?” He teases, hoping to break the tension, and Bucky shakes his head and sobs out a laugh.

“You’re such a goddamn punk,” he mutters hoarsely, and Steve barely notices the flash in those blue-gray eyes before Bucky is surging down and kissing him passionately.

Steve makes a noise of surprise and scrunches up his nose because he’s sure he tastes absolutely  _ disgusting _ , what with being sick and having been asleep for god knows how many days. But Bucky doesn’t stop, just moans into the kiss and licks into Steve’s mouth eagerly, at least until Steve gets a hand on his shoulder and pushes him away feebly.

“Buck,” he protests, “you’re gonna get sick—”

“Don’t care,” Bucky declares resolutely, pecking at Steve’s lips again. Steve flushes, and for the first time in two weeks it’s not from the fever.

“I—Bucky,” he stutters, “’c’mon, don’t—I bet my mouth tastes  _ awful _ .”

Bucky grins at him and shakes his head. “You’re sweet as can be, Stevie, always are.” He laughs and glances away when Steve eyes him suspiciously. “Okay, you’re a little funny tastin’,” he admits, “but I don’t mind, honest. I’m just glad—Just glad I get to kiss you again, is all.” His smile wavers, thoughts quickly reaching dangerous territories again, and Steve pulls him back down into another soft kiss to distract him.

⋆⋆✰⋆⋆

Bucky never tells Steve the real reason he lost his job at the auto manufacturer. As far as Steve knows, Bucky got bored of it and decided to take time off to look for something better. Steve doesn’t question it—Bucky knows Steve wasn’t fond of the gig in the first place, with all of its inherent dangers—and Bucky is grateful. He hates lying to Steve; despises the way it makes him feel wretched and slimy inside, and despises the principal of it even more. Steve is his best pal and the best guy Bucky’s ever met. He deserves nothing but the honest to god truth, but... well, there’s some things he doesn’t need to know.

Like, for example, the fact that Bucky didn’t get tired, he got  _ fired _ . Too many missed days from all the time he’d taken off to stay at Steve’s bedside, talking to him and caring for him and praying for him. Bucky doesn’t care much, anyhow—as fun as the job had been and as much as he needs the money, Steve will always be his number one priority. Luckily enough, he lands a desk job as an accountant at a small furniture shop not long after. The pay isn’t as good, but it’s easy work, and he doesn’t have to spend all day on his feet.

For weeks afterwards, every time Steve so much as sneezes Bucky’s heart skips a beat, terrified that he might be getting sick again. But Steve doesn’t—thank god—and instead gradually rebuilds his strength and health until he’s back to picking fights in alleyways. Which, of course, is not ideal, but Bucky’s learned to expect, and sometimes even accept, Steve’s reckless behavior. Most of the time, anyways.

⋆⋆✰⋆⋆

Bucky’s so caught up in fussing over Steve, still shaken from his certainty that he was going to lose him, that it takes him a while to notice that something’s wrong with Sarah.

Bucky doesn’t see her all that often, busy as she is working at the hospital. But one night in early spring, as he joins her and Steve for dinner during one of the few moments their days off align, it strikes him suddenly how pale she’s gotten. Her skin is dull and thin looking, and her eyes seem to droop as she eats her stew. She looks beyond exhausted. Bucky glances at Steve worriedly, but Steve doesn’t seem to notice, so Bucky pushes his concerns aside. She’s probably just had a couple rough shifts, he figures.

He’s forced to reevaluate that conclusion not even two months later, when he passes her on her way out just as he arrives at the apartment. She looks awfully thin, just skin and bones, and Bucky can hear her chest wheezing faintly the way Steve’s sometimes does. She nearly walks straight into his chest, and startles when he steadies her with a hand on her arm.

“Oh! Sorry, dear, I didn’t see you there.” She smiles politely, but its strained around the edges. 

Bucky frowns at her. “No worries, ma’am. Are you feeling okay?” 

She certainly doesn’t  _ look _ okay, but she just smiles at him knowingly and waves a dismissive hand. “I’m afraid I’ve come down with a chest cold. I’ll be fine in no time,” she reassures him. “Now, if you don’t mind, I really must be leaving…”

“Of course!” Bucky says, stepping aside, “I hope you feel better.”

He lingers in the hall, watching as she bustles past him and down the steps. Something isn’t sitting right with him. He’s still frowning as he opens Steve’s front door and enters the apartment, slipping off his shoes to leave them by the entryway.

“Steve?” he calls out as he looks around. He hears a thunk, then Steve sticks his head out from his bedroom and grins. Bucky grins back, enamored by the sight of Steve’s baby blue eyes and floppy hair.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve greets happily, and Bucky strides over to him and ruffles up his hair, causing Steve to scowl at him and bat his hand away. Bucky laughs as he watches Steve smooth his hands over his own head in an attempt to undo the damage.

“Hey, punk. What’ve you been up to?”

Steve shrugs and flops back onto his bed, picking up his abandoned book to set it on the nightstand. “Nothin’ much. Just studying, mostly.”

Bucky sits down next to him and leans back against the mattress, wincing as a stray piece of straw pokes him in the back. “Good, good. A Steve doin’ nothin’ is a Steve staying outta trouble,” he jests, and Steve rolls his eyes. Bucky sobers a bit and looks at him carefully. “How’s your Ma doin’?” He keeps his voice casual, feigning simple curiosity, and Steve seems to buy it.

He shrugs again and reaches for his sketchbook. “She’s got a chest cold or something, but she won’t listen to me about taking time off work.” 

Bucky hums noncommittally as Steve purses his lips and furrows his brow, still looking down at his lap as he scribbles in some lines in his drawing. Bucky can just make out the image of a maple tree being rendered on the page. 

“I was thinkin’ about looking for a job,” Steve admits, “Figure it might help her out a bit.”

Bucky nods. “Sounds like a good idea,” he agrees, and Steve looks up at him with surprise.

“Really?” 

Bucky frowns. “Sure, why not? If it’s something you really wanna do, I say go for it. It’ll give you less time to get yourself into fights, anyhow.”

Steve doesn’t react to the jab, just looks down again with his lips twisted. “I guess. It’s just—I mean, who would wanna hire a guy like me, anyhow?” he asks bitterly, and Bucky sits up.

“Plenty ‘a people! C’mon, Stevie, don’t talk like that. There’re plenty of jobs you can do. Sure, maybe it's not the best idea for you to work in a factory or haul crates at the docks, but there’s other stuff out there.”

“Like what?” Steve says skeptically, and Bucky scoffs. He hates it when Steve gets like this, gets to putting himself down and doubting his worth.

“Well, you could be an accountant for one, like me, if you didn’t hate math so much. Or a secretary, or a clerk. You could be a waiter, or a soda jerk, or hell, even a bartender. Oh, and you know what? You’d make a killing doing art for the newspaper. Think of it, having all of your little doodles on display for the whole city to see. Or you could paint portraits for people, or maybe—”

“Alright, alright,” Steve huffs, blushing, “I get the point, Buck.”

Bucky smiles toothily at him and bumps their shoulders together. “I just want ya to see how useful you are. Don’t sell yourself short, punk, any employer would be lucky to have you.”

Steve grumbles, still seeming unconvinced, but Bucky can see a bit more confidence in the set of his shoulders. He drops the subject, knowing full well that pestering Steve about it won’t do any good, and moves onto interrogating him about school instead.

As luck would have it, F.D.R. launches the Second New Deal only a week after that conversation, and before long Steve has landed himself a job painting signs for local businesses. His chest is puffed out and his cheeks are flush with excitement when he shares the news with Bucky, and he looks so gorgeous in that moment that Bucky has no choice but to drag him into a kiss and take him apart with his hands.

⋆⋆✰⋆⋆

To Steve’s surprise, he does so well with the sign paintings that by the time he graduates high school, he has quite a few job offers lined up. Nothing major—just some commissions for advertisements and the like—but it’s enough to put some cash in his pocket and a smile on his face. Mr. Mortinson, the owner of Brooklyn’s best toy shop, was so impressed with Steve’s work that he hired him to do the art for the store’s newspaper ads. Bucky never says “I told you so,” but Steve can see him thinking it when he smiles at Steve from the corner of his eye as he watches Steve sketch out doll after doll.

Steve allocates a small portion of his money to go towards art supplies, and an even smaller portion to go towards fun. The rest he saves up in jar hidden away in his sock drawer, his ma having refused to take even a penny from him despite Steve’s best protests and arguments.

The summer is spent in a daze of charcoal smudges and spilled inks. Bucky succeeds in prying Steve away from his work from time to time, but he has his own job to occupy his days with, so Steve rarely leaves his rickety desk, let alone the apartment. He doesn’t mind it so much. It’s nice, to open up the paper and see his art; to walk down the street and see the colorful signs he’s painted, to feel a sense of  _ accomplishment _ for the first time in his life. Nicer still to watch as his glass jar slowly fills with coins that clink pleasantly as he drops them in. Secretly, Steve has his eyes set on art school. He doesn’t have the money for it, not yet, but maybe someday…

⋆⋆✰⋆⋆

Like all good things, his summer of hopes and dreams and cramped hands comes to an end. Fall creeps in, and with it comes a harsh chill. Steve is more cautious this year, staying inside when he can and bundling himself up when he can’t. In all honesty, he’s not as worried about actually getting sick as he is about the stress it would put on his Ma.

His Ma is… well, something hasn’t been quite right with her, recently. Her chest cold had never really seemed to go away. If anything, it seems to have gotten worse. She brushes away Steve’s worries ( _ I’m sure it’s just allergies, dear _ ), but as Steve lies in his bed at night and listens to the sound of her hacking, he can’t help but feel dread well up inside him.

⋆⋆✰⋆⋆

Sarah’s death is both drawn out and sudden. Drawn out in the way she’s slowly been deteriorating for months now, decaying in front of Steve’s frantic gaze. Sudden in the way that, somehow, Steve had fooled himself into believing that it wasn’t really happening, that the blood-spattered handkerchiefs and wheezing breaths and chest-rattling coughs would just disappear; that his Ma’s skin would go back to being vibrant instead of shallow, her gaze sharp instead of clouded, her body active instead of confined to bed.

That’s not what happens.

What happens is that by the time she finally relents and allows Steve to check her into the hospital, it’s too late. The doctors won’t even let him visit her in her final days, insisting that Steve’s immune system wouldn’t be able to handle the exposure. As if they truly expect Steve to be able to care about something as trivial as his health, something other than the life of his mother, at a time like this.

Sarah dies on a Thursday, in the early hours of the morning, just before the sunrise. At least, that’s what the nurses tell him when he stops by to check up on her and try to convince them to let him in, just like he does every day. She dies alone in an uncomfortable hospital bed, without anyone there to hold her hand. Steve didn’t even get to say goodbye.

Steve walks home in a daze, brushing off the fussing and fretting of the nurses. He sits cross-legged on his mother’s bed until the sun sets and rises again. He ignores the gnawing in his stomach. The thought of eating makes him sick. He ignores the way his eyelids droop, the thought of sleep terrifying him.

He isn’t sure what time it is when someone starts pounding on the door, but the room is bright again, the sun illuminating the dust dancing through the air.

“Steve!” Bucky’s voice calls, distant and muffled between layers of wood, “Steve, I heard about your ma. I’m so sorry, Stevie. Please let me in. Let me see that you’re okay.”

Steve ignores his pleas. He listens as the shouting and banging persists until Ms. O’Connell’s yelling interrupts it; listens still as Bucky yells back at her and curses. He even listens as the front door clicks and then slams open, frowning, because dammit, he’d forgotten that Bucky knows where the spare key is hidden.

Bucky barges into the room moments later, but Steve still doesn’t move, just lets his weary gaze drift over to meet Bucky’s eyes. Bucky’s face twists as he looks at him.

“Oh, Stevie,” he sighs, striding forwards to drag Steve into an embrace. Steve doesn’t resist, but he doesn’t hug back, either. “God, Stevie, I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you come to me? You know what, don’t worry about that. I’m here now and I’ll take care of you, okay?”

Steve doesn’t react as Bucky scoops him up into his arms and carries him out into the living room. He doesn’t react as Bucky sets him gently on the couch and wraps a blanket tight around his shoulders. He doesn’t react as Bucky leaves and brings back a hot cup of tea, or as Bucky sighs when he just stares at it blankly.

“C’mon, Stevie, will you just drink it? Please?”

He looks at Steve with big pleading eyes and Steve doesn’t have the energy to argue. He gulps it down, not even wincing as it scalds his tongue and burns the back of his throat. He mechanically eats the loaf of bread Bucky brings too, as well as the apple slices. He lets his body go limp as Bucky sits down next to him and maneuvers his limbs so that Steve’s head is cradled in his lap. He doesn’t mean to fall asleep, doesn’t want to, but eventually the feeling of Bucky’s hands running soothingly through his hair lures him into unconsciousness.

⋆⋆✰⋆⋆

When Steve wakes, he’s aware of two things: Bucky isn’t on the couch anymore, and his bladder is a sharp pain within him. He stands up and pauses as his vision darkens, then hobbles to the bathroom, limbs sore from being so still for so long. When he comes back out he finds Bucky in the kitchen. Steve collapses in a seat at the table, rubbing his eyes blearily, and Bucky looks over at him and smiles. Steve doesn’t bother to try to smile back.

Bucky brings over a plate of honey toast and another cup of tea, both of which taste like ash in his mouth. It’s only once Steve has choked down every crumb that Bucky speaks.

“How are you feeling, champ?”

Steve shakes his head and huffs out a broken laugh. “I’m not,” he says, and Bucky frowns at him.

“Whad’ya mean?” he asks, brows furrowed, and Steve shakes his head.

“I mean I don’t feel anything. My Ma just died and I don’t feel a thing, Buck. What kinda monster do you think that makes me?”

“Steve, c’mon, don’t—”

Steve talks over him. “What kind of man feels nothing at his mother’s death?” His voice grows louder. “What kind of son—"

Bucky rounds the table and crouches in front of Steve, yanking him forward until Steve’s face is buried in his neck. Steve breaks—his voice, his composure, his heart— and collapses into him, letting Bucky support his weight. Bucky doesn’t say anything, just hums soothingly as he holds Steve tight and lets him fall apart against him.


	3. Drunk Enough to Deal With It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for brief discussions of suicide.

“I heard your Ma’s funeral was today.”

Steve hunches his shoulders at the voice and walks down the street faster, hoping that Bucky will get the point and leave him alone if he doesn’t look at him. Bucky doesn’t, instead falling into stride with Steve’s hurried footsteps, long legs keeping pace easily.

“There a reason you didn’t invite me?”

Bucky’s voice is calm on the surface, casual, but Steve can hear the undercurrent of tension lacing it. Bucky is miffed, and Steve doesn’t have the energy to deal with his anger. 

He shrugs. “You were working.”

Bucky scoffs. “Right. Because taking a day off to be there for you would have been completely out of the question. Totally unrealistic. Impossible, even.” 

Steve still isn’t looking at him, his eyes focused on the dust kicking up beneath his feet, but he can imagine Bucky’s jaw clenching the way it always does when he’s upset. Steve sighs and kicks at a rock.

“Look, Buck, did you just come here to yell at me? Because I’m really not in the mood—”

“No, no, hey, I just—” Bucky cuts off and sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. I just wish you would let me help you, Stevie. It kills me that you won’t accept the fact that other people care for you, wanna be there for you.”

Steve twists his lips and shrugs again but doesn’t respond. They walk the last block to his Ma’s—no,  _ Steve’s— _ apartment in silence.

“So how was it?” Bucky asks as he trails after Steve up the rickety steps.

“It was okay,” Steve says blandly, like anything about his mother’s funeral could be ‘ _ okay’ _ . “She’s next to dad.”

Bucky pauses and nods, then— “I was gonna ask—”

“I know what you’re gonna say, Buck,” Steve cuts off, moving to fish his key out of his pocket. “Just…”

“C’mon,” Bucky wheedles, “we can put the couch cushions on the floor like when we were kids. It’d be fun, all you gotta do is just shine my shoes, maybe take out the trash...”

Steve ignores him, movements growing frustrated as he moves on to the next pocket and finds that one empty as well. “Where the hell…” he mutters, and Bucky moves past him to snatch the spare key out from its hiding spot. Steve frowns as he takes it from Bucky’s hand and unlatches the lock before turning back to meet Bucky’s gaze. “Thanks, Buck. But I can get by on my own.”

Bucky smiles at him softly and claps a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “The thing is, you don’t have to. I’m with you till the end of the line, pal.”

Steve thinks, absently, that if his heart weren’t shattered to pieces it might flutter at the words.

⋆⋆✰⋆⋆

That night, as Bucky finishes setting up the couch cushions next to Steve’s bed as promised, something in Steve snaps.

“Don’t.”

Bucky looks up at him, confused and concerned. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t—just—” Steve growls in frustration and grabs the lapels of Bucky’s shirt, dragging him forward into a harsh kiss. Bucky gasps against his lips, freezing for only a moment before kissing back with just as much fervor.

It’s been a while since they’ve done this. They’ve both been busy, with their jobs and their families, and they aren’t the awkward, bumbling, hormonal teenagers they once were. Steve had thought that maybe, once he was grown and more mature, his desire for Bucky would change. Not fade, no, but maybe just shift into something less intense, more bearable.

In the past few months, with his thoughts occupied by money and the future and Sarah, Steve had barely had time to waste on pining over Bucky the way he used to. He’d thought that maybe, his feelings were finally settling down.

He’d been wrong.

Feeling Bucky’s heat pressing against him now, feeling the moans that rumble through his chest, his tongue as it swipes against his lips… he feels all the desire from his youth come back in full force. When he starts pawing at the buttons on Bucky’s shirt, popping them free one by one, Bucky gentles the kiss and pulls back the slightest amount. Steve growls in frustration and tries to chase after his lips, but Bucky just firms his grasp on Steve’s shoulder and leans back further.

“Hey, hey, Stevie, just—just wait a second. Are you sure you wanna do this?” He looks concerned, and Steve prickles under his gaze. He’s been getting real tired of people’s pity, lately.

“Why wouldn’t I?” he challenges, clenching his jaw, daring Bucky to say it. 

Bucky does.

“Because you just lost your mother, Steve. It’s been a rough week for you, and no offense buddy, but you don’t seem very emotionally stable to me at the moment. I just don’t wanna do something you’ll regret.”

Steve glares at him. “I can make my own damn decisions, Buck. I’m not a kid anymore.”

“I know,” Bucky soothes. “I know that, Steve.”

They stand there for a moment, eyeing each other, still panting lightly from the kiss. The longer the silence goes on, the more desperate Steve becomes, until he cracks under Bucky’s careful scrutiny.

“Please,” he whispers, hating himself for begging, for admitting weakness. “Please, Bucky, I just wanna forget. Just for a little bit. Just make me forget.”

Bucky purses his lips and searches Steve’s eyes one last time before nodding slowly. “Okay, yeah. Whatever you want.”

Except he  _ doesn’t  _ give Steve what he wants. Steve wants it rough, wants their teeth to clash and their nails to scratch, wants the pain to zing through his body the way he deserves it to. But no matter how harsh he tries to be, how hurried he tries to make his movements, Bucky does the opposite, kissing Steve soft and slow, treating Steve like something gentle, something worth loving. Steve is sobbing by the time Bucky gets a hand around him, both of them sprawled on the bed, but Bucky just shushes him and soothes him, telling Steve to let go, to let it all out. In the aftermath, as Bucky clutches Steve tight to his chest, Steve does exactly that, crying his eyes out until he’s drained dry.

⋆⋆✰⋆⋆

They don’t talk about it, the next morning. Any of it. The kissing, the crying, the cuddling. They don’t talk about it.

Then again, Steve thinks bitterly, they never do.

⋆⋆✰⋆⋆

The month following his mother’s death is a blur. Steve throws himself into his job, spending every minute of his day hunched over his sketchbooks until his hands are too cramped to hold the pencil and his eyes blur from exertion. He stays cooped up inside until he can’t bear it any longer, then he goes out and picks fights with any guy he thinks deserves it. The muscle aches and migraines and bruises are nothing compared to the agony in his heart, and he accepts them gratefully, allowing the pain to distract him from his thoughts. Mr. Mortenson crows over Steve’s improved productivity and gives him a raise. Steve couldn’t care less. He spends half of his next paycheck on booze and barely waits until the front door shuts behind him before cracking open the whiskey and guzzling it down.

It tastes  _ awful _ , like gasoline and fire burning down his throat, but he gulps and he gulps until he has to pause to gasp in air. His split lip from the fight he got into a couple nights back smarts painfully. He hates the taste of alcohol, always has, hates the way it makes his head go all dizzy and his heart beat go all wonky. But today he just wants to forget, wants to forget his pain and grief and guilt, just for a little bit. He’ll pull himself together after this, he tells himself. He just needs this moment.

Bucky finds him like that a few hours later, drunk off his ass and sprawled out on the floor, brain a mushy mess. “For fucks sake, Rogers,” Bucky curses as he picks up the bottle from the floor, one third of it gone, flooding Steve’s stomach. “Did you just drink all of this at once?”

Steve groans and rolls over, burying his face into the dusty wood floor, coughing as the particles kick up into his lungs. Bucky curses again and hauls him up; carries him to his bed where he drops Steve on the mattress before leaving the room, muttering about stupid punks trying to give themselves asthma attacks. He comes back with a glass of water and an angry expression, the first of which he shoves against Steve’s lips.

“Drink,” he orders, and Steve rolls his eyes. Or at least, he thinks he does. It’s hard to tell what’s going on.

“Don’ wanna,” he slurs resolutely.

Bucky doesn’t appear to be impressed. “Too damn bad. At this point, I don’t give a shit what you want, Steve. Drink.”

Steve glares at him but complies, knowing Bucky might just shove the entire cup down his throat if he doesn’t, if the way Bucky’s fuming at him is any indication. Bucky waits until Steve has drained every last drop and set the cup aside to start lecturing.

“I don’t know what in the goddamn hell you’re thinking, Rogers,” Bucky rants, pacing the room with his hands tangled in his curly hair, “tryna pull a stunt like that, drinking all that at once. Hell, not even just that— _ all of this _ .” He pauses to sigh, shaking his head. “Look, pal, you’re grieving. I get that. I can’t even imagine what you’re going through. But this? You barely left your apartment in a  _ month _ , Steve, other than to go out and get beat up and buy booze apparently. Jesus, I still can’t believe you did that. You know how alcohol affects you, Steve, god, what are you tryna do, get yourself killed?”

Steve juts out his jaw angrily. He’s a grown adult, and he can make his own choices no matter what Bucky thinks of them, no matter what consequences may rise as a result. “So what if I am?” He challenges, hoping to get a rise out of Bucky.

And he does.

Just not the way he wanted to.

Bucky’s face goes as blank as a sheet of paper, and his skin goes pale as one too. Steve blinks in alarm as Bucky scrambles onto the bed and pins Steve’s wrists to the mattress. The sudden movement makes Steve woozy and his vision blurry, but he can still make out the alarm on Bucky’s face clear as day. “Stevie, don’t say that,” Bucky begs desperately. “C’mon, you don’t mean that. Tell me you don’t mean that. Tell me you aren’t thinking of—of—”

Steve heart falls and he sobers up the slightest amount, just enough to realize what a dunce he’s being, what a jerk. Bucky’s father had survived the war, unlike Steve’s. He made it home to his wife and his newborn son, put on a good act, got Bucky’s ma pregnant with Becca. He seemed fine, by all accounts, right up until the moment he killed himself. Bucky was little at the time, barely old enough to write coherently, but it still hurt him. Not to mention that it had absolutely devastated Bucky’s ma, meaning Bucky had to help out with Becca more than any kid his age should. Jesus, that was the worst thing Steve could have said.

Steve moves his uncoordinated arms to grasp at Bucky’s shoulders. “Hey,” he mumbles, “hey, ‘m sorry, Buck, I didn’ mean it. I wouldn’t do that to ya, I promise.”

Bucky melts in relief above him, burying his face in Steve’s neck and holding Steve tight. Steve holds back as well as he can, even though his limbs are weak from the alcohol. He can still feel Bucky’s shuddering breaths against his skin when he falls asleep.

⋆⋆✰⋆⋆

Steve wakes up and barely has time to roll over before he vomits, luckily into the conveniently placed bucket right next to the bed. He groans when its done, feeling wretched and awful, a headache pounding in his skull.

“That’s what you get for drinkin’ like that.”

He peeks up at Bucky, leaning against the doorway, and winces at the bright light streaming through the curtain.

“You’re a goddamn idiot,” Bucky continues, but he does bring Steve another glass of water so Steve isn’t too offended. Also, though he’ll never admit it, in this case he thinks Bucky is right. Bucky glares at him and opens his mouth to undoubtedly condemn Steve further, then snaps his jaw shut and shakes his head. “A goddamn idiot,” he mutters again as he leaves the room. Steve hears him banging around in the kitchen a moment later.

It feels like it takes forever for Steve to coax his body out of bed and stumble into the kitchen, still clutching at his throbbing head. He collapses at the table and slumps forward, burying his face in his arms with a groan. Bucky’s cooking something on the stove, and the smell of it makes Steve’s stomach turn unpleasantly, nausea rising in his throat.

Bucky drops a plate on the table a moment later, and Steve groans again and sits up at the sound, glaring at Bucky balefully. Bucky glares back and gestures to the plate of potato pancakes and eggs.

“Eat.”

Steve considers disobeying, but he knows Bucky will make his life a living hell if he does, and besides, he doesn’t feel like arguing much at the moment, anyhow. As he slowly works through his meal and glass of orange juice the gears in his brain start turning again, and he frowns down at his fork. “Where’d you get the eggs? And the juice?”

Bucky looks up from his own plate to glare at him again. “Had to buy them from Mrs. Burke down the hall, since you didn’t have any damn food in your ice box. Have you even been eating, Steve?”

“Of course!” Steve protests, and Bucky raises a skeptical eyebrow.

“Oh yeah? Eating  _ healthy _ ?”

Steve falters, because he isn’t sure surviving on a diet that consisted solely of potato stew and peanut butter sandwiches would be considered healthy, and Bucky scoffs and looks away. 

“I’ll pay you back. For the eggs.”

Bucky shakes his head. “Just shut up, will ya, Steve?”

Steve does.

They finish their breakfast in silence. Steve has to reluctantly admit that by the end of it he is feeling quite a bit better. When he mutters a thanks to Bucky, Bucky just huffs. But he doesn’t get up to put away the plates, and when Steve tries to, Bucky stops him with a look.

So they just sit there, and Bucky stares at him, and Steve stares back. For once Steve can’t tell what Bucky’s thinking, and that makes him nervous. He can usually read Bucky like a book.

“So—” Steve starts awkwardly, and Bucky cuts him off.

“You’re moving in with me.”

Steve blinks. “What?”

“You’re moving in with me,” Bucky repeats, tone leaving no room for argument. 

Steve, of course, argues anyways. “What are you talking about, Buck? You don’t even have your own place,” Steve scoffs, and Bucky lifts his chin defiantly.

“We’ll get one.”

“Bucky, I—this is ridiculous—”

“You’re ridiculous,” Bucky argues, and Steve stares at him incredulously.

“Are you outta your mind, Buck? I ain’t getting a place with you—”

“You are,” Bucky insists.

Steve juts his jaw out and crosses his arms. “Oh, so I don’t get a say in this?” he asks sarcastically, and Bucky slams a hand down on the table. The sound makes Steve wince, headache not quite gone yet, but Bucky doesn’t even seem to notice.

“No,  _ Steve _ , you don’t,” he rants. “You keep saying you’re an adult, that you can make your own damn choices? Then act like it! At the rate you’re going, you’re gonna get yourself killed. The fighting, and the drinking, and the way you were talking last night—” Bucky cuts off and shakes his head. “I ain’t gonna let that happen.”

Steve gapes at him. “Buck, come on, I told you I didn’t mean it—”

“Well maybe I’m just having a hard time believing you! For fucks sake, how could I not? You’ve sure as hell been acting like you mean it, so you’ll have to excuse me for not buying into your bullshit!” 

When Steve opens his mouth to argue, Bucky’s face twists. “ _ Please _ . Please, Steve, just let me keep an eye on you. Even if you don’t need it, it’ll make me feel a hell of a lot better. And besides,” he adds, almost desperately, “It’ll be fun, won’t it? Just like how we used to have sleepovers when we were kids, but it’ll be every night. And you know I’ve been wanting to move outta my ma’s place. Besides, you can’t afford the rent here forever—if we get a place together we can split the rent and save money. It’ll be aces, Stevie, c’mon.”

Steve purses his lips and sighs, shoulders slumping. He hates how weak he is when it comes to Bucky, how easily he always gives in, but honestly… it doesn’t sound like a bad idea. Steve missed living with someone, missed the sound of his Ma clattering around and talking to her over breakfast. “Fine,” he huffs, “but only if we can find a decent place that won’t drain our savings.”

The tension drains out of Bucky’s shoulders and he beams at Steve. “It’s a deal, punk.”

⋆⋆✰⋆⋆

To Steve’s surprise, Bucky swings back around the very next day, raving about a tenement he found in DUMBO that would only cost them twenty-three bucks a month.

“How’d you manage to find a place so fast?” Steve asks suspiciously, and Bucky falters, smiling sheepishly.

“I uh, I might have been looking into this for a while. Scoping out some places and all that. I wasn’t gonna tell you until I found the perfect place, but after the past couple of days… well, you know, figured I’d give it a shot.”

Steve eyes him disapprovingly and shakes his head, but he does agree to go with Bucky to check the place out. It’s nicer than he had been expecting, the walls painted a soft blue and the floors only somewhat creaky. There’s a clawfoot bathtub in the kitchen and a relatively spacious bedroom, and the fact that one wall of it is up against a street means that there’s actually somewhat of a view from the windows.

Bucky grins at Steve smugly and cocks an eyebrow, spreading his arms out dramatically. “Well, Stevie? What d’ya think?”

“I think it’s a miracle that this place is so cheap,” he mutters under his breath, not wanting the landlord who’s hovering nearby to hear. “There’s gotta be something wrong with this place—”

Bucky cuts him off with a groan and rolls his eyes. “Like what? We already checked the appliances and the plumbing is fine. Anything else we can probably fix ourselves, though from what I’m seeing, there won’t be any problems. Can’t you just accept a good thing when you see one?”

Steve huffs and purses his lips. “Fine,” he relents, and Bucky grins toothily and slings an arm over his shoulder.

“Atta boy,” he praises. “You won’t regret it.”

⋆⋆✰⋆⋆

They move in within the week, one of Bucky’s friends offering to help them move their furniture with his truck in exchange for a quarter. Getting rid of Sarah’s old belongings is hard, but Steve reminds himself that donating them is what she would have wanted. It’s better for them to go to someone in need than collect dust in the back of the closet. He does keep a few things, though, like a couple of the quilts she’d made and the trunk she’d brought with her from Ireland. The move goes smoothly, and they’re settled in just in time for Thanksgiving. Bucky’s ma and sister come over and look over the place with approval before they all busy themselves with cooking the small turkey and chopping vegetables and setting the table—the table consisting of a slab of wood placed over the bathtub.

It’s nice. Almost enough that the absence of his own mother isn’t a gaping hole in Steve’s heart. Almost.

⋆⋆✰⋆⋆

Steve quickly realizes why the place came so cheap. It isn’t the apartment itself—it’s the neighborhood. The family next door is black and the one down the hall is Hispanic, and Steve could swear that half the men he comes in contact with are queer. Not that he minds. If anything, it’s a relief. Steve’s come to terms with the fact that he’s a bit queer himself, and he thinks it’s better to be surrounded by those who are like him than those who would hate him.

The first time they run into a queen in the hallway Bucky momentarily falters, eyes going wide as saucers before he recovers and smiles charmingly at them. The moment they’re behind the safety of their door, Steve bursts into laughter. “Your face,” he wheezes, and Bucky turns bright red.

“Shaddup. I just—I mean, I knew there were fellas like that, but I didn’t know they walked around in public dressed that way! He’s gonna get himself killed!”

Steve rolls his eyes, still smiling fondly. Of course the first thought on Bucky’s mind would be concern for the queen’s safety. “No one’s gonna give ‘em any trouble here, Buck, haven’t you noticed? This block is practically brimming with queers.”

“What?” Bucky squawks, and Steve laughs harder.

“You’re such a dunce, Buck. I mean, there’s that queer bar just down the street.”

“ _ What _ ? Which one?”

“Tucker’s,” Steve says, eyes twinkling. “Why, you thinking of dropping by there, picking up a date?”

Bucky turns so red that Steve can’t help but notice his resemblance to a tomato. A very pretty, handsome tomato. “No! Jesus, Steve, don’t joke like that!”

“Why not? It’s not as if you and I don’t—mphf—”

He stares at Bucky incredulously when Bucky claps a hand over Steve’s mouth, then yanks it back a second later as if it’s been burned.

“Shh!” He hisses, like someone could hear, like anyone around here would care. “That’s different! We ain’t queer. We’re just two fellas helping each other out.”

Steve’s smile fades, along with the mirth that had been in his chest. “Oh,” he says, completely thrown for a loop. “I—”

“I’m gonna go start on dinner,” Bucky announces, turning on his heel. Steve stays there in the entryway, frowning, and tries to pretend that the sinking feeling in his heart isn’t because he’s hurt.


	4. Back Against the Wall

Things are strained between them for a couple of days after that. Bucky hadn’t meant to upset Steve, not when he had been doing so well, not when he’d actually been  _ laughing _ for the first time since his mother’s death. But what else could Bucky have said? He told Steve right from the beginning that this thing between them had to be casual, and if Steve doesn’t see it that way…

Well, Bucky isn’t sure how to feel about that. Some small, deeply buried part of him is thrilled that Steve might want more with him. Bucky tries to imagine that,  _ more _ . Tries to imagine what it would be like to make Steve his fella, to take him out for a spin in a dance hall, to love him. He’s man enough to admit that the thought does sound nice—hell, it sounds  _ more _ than nice— but mostly, it scares the hell out of him.

Because fellas like that, fellas who do that sorta thing, they put a target on their back. Hell, Bucky’s already put Steve in enough danger by moving them straight into queer-central, apparently. If anyone gets the wrong idea about them it could ruin their lives. It could  _ end _ their lives.

Bucky can’t risk that. Especially not when it comes to Steve. What they’re doing now is risky enough; anything more would be too dangerous.

Unfortunately, none of that changes the fact that Steve has been acting differently towards him. More reserved. He avoids Bucky when he can, and when he can’t, he seems awkward. Which is most of the time, because it’s hard to avoid someone you share a bedroom with. Bucky  _ hates _ it. He misses the easy friendship they’ve always shared, and after a week and a half of Steve dancing around him, Bucky has had enough.

“We’re going out tonight.”

Steve glances up from his sketchbook and raises his eyebrows, then shrugs and goes back to drawing. “I’m good, thanks. You go have fun though.”

“No way,” Bucky says, already rifling through their dresser. He grabs a shirt and pants that look decent enough and tosses them next to Steve on the bed. “You’re coming, and that’s final. I’ve caught us a fine pair of dames to go on a double date with, and you wouldn’t wanna leave a girl waiting now, would ya Stevie?”

Steve scoffs. “I’m sure she’d rather have no date at all than me,” he grumbles, and Bucky frowns.

“Don’t talk like that Steve, you’re a real catch—”

“Says who?”

“Says me!” Bucky falters as he registers his own words, his face heating up against his will. Steve gives him a dry, pointed look, and Bucky feels like a bug pinned under his gaze.

“That’s not—you know what I meant—” Bucky bumbles.

Steve narrows his eyes and cocks his head, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “Do I?” he challenges sarcastically.

“Yes, Steve. You do.”  _ We both do,  _ Bucky thinks. His tone is hard, but the way he looks at Steve is a soft plea,  _ please don’t do this.  _ “Look, just—C’mon, Steve, any girl would be lucky to have you. And this one’s real swell, too. Her name’s Edith, and she’s an artist just like you. Likes doin’ paintings and stuff. And she’s a pretty little thing, with curly brown hair and these big doe eyes. You’ll love her, Stevie.”

Steve glares at him for a moment longer, obviously having caught on to Bucky’s attempt to change the subject back to safer territory.

“If she’s so great maybe you should date her,” Steve grouses bitterly.

“Can’t. I’m goin’ with her friend Louise. Now hurry up and get dressed, we’re meeting them outside the dance hall in twenty minutes.”

Steve sighs and set his sketchbook down. “Fine.”

Steve sulks the whole walk there, and Bucky starts to think that maybe, just  _ maybe _ , this wasn’t one of his brightest ideas. But Bucky also thinks that it’ll do Steve some good to spend some time with a nice dame, to have someone show an interest in him the way that Bucky can’t, even if the thought of Steve getting all lovey with some girl does make his heart twinge painfully.

The girls are already outside when they get there, chatting with each other and looking real swell. They giggle when Bucky tells them that, grinning at them with all the charm he can muster.

“Nice of you to make it,” Louise says, smiling coyly. Bucky smiles back and lifts her hand to press a kiss to it, making her laugh more.

“Now, I couldn’t pass up a chance with a dame like you, could I?” Bucky smiles and turns to greet Steve’s date. “Edith, this is Steve.”

Edith glances at Steve as if only just noticing him, and blinks. “Oh. Hello. You’re very… cute.” She glances at Louise out of the corner of her eye and snickers.

Bucky frowns and tightens his grip on Steve’s shoulder as he feels Steve tense up. “Don’t let that fool you,” Bucky interjects, “Steve here is as tough as they come.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Edith says, pursing her lips and nodding exaggeratingly. Louise elbows her lightly in the side and glances at Bucky apologetically.

“Well, let’s go in, shall we? It’s freezing out here!”

Bucky gives her a grateful smile and loops an arm around her waist. “Sure thing, doll,” he says, steering her inside. Edith and Steve trail after them, and Bucky can hear Steve awkwardly asking her about her paintings before the music and ruckus engulfs them and drowns out her response.

They all take a seat at one of the booths and chat amicably until Louise hears her favorite song and tugs Bucky up for a dance. Bucky follows her obligingly and spins her around the dance floor, enjoying the feeling of her soft hips under his hands, her warmth against him. Bucky likes girls, he really does. But sometimes he finds his eyes straying, lingering over the male dancers, their sharp features and broad shoulders.

Not that that means anything! So what if the sight of a fella excites him a bit, maybe even more than the sight of a dame does. He’s sure that’s true for all men—he’s just admiring their handsomeness, the way one might look at a pretty rose. And besides, he doesn’t get that nervous, jittery feeling in his stomach when he’s with guys, not the way he does with girls; when his palms get sweaty and he’s not sure where to put his hands. He doesn’t even get that way with Steve. Sure, when he’s with Steve his heart beat rackets up and his chest swells with happiness, but that’s different. Calmer, maybe.

Well, at least until it comes to making time. Then it’s the opposite. Fooling around with Steve makes him feel like he’s falling apart and coming together at the same time, like he’s soaring. It’s different with girls. He feels… less excited, maybe? More in control. Like he can still think clearly and focus on making them feel good. Not that he doesn’t feel good, he does, just… well, it’s just different, you see? He can’t really explain it.

“What’re you thinking so hard about?”

Bucky jolts out of his thoughts to see Louise smiling up at him, her wavy black hair frizzy from the humidity and warmth built up inside the hall. “Nothin’,” he shakes his head dismissively and shoots her a charming grin. “Just distracted by your beauty, is all.”

She blushes prettily and laughs, feet moving smoothly as they glide across the wood floor.

Things go well for a while after that. Bucky loses himself in the music, in the rhythm of their movements. He loves dancing, loves the press of the crowd and the burn in his muscles. Having a dame on his arm is a plus of course, but he’d be just as happy without. Even happier if it was Steve instead.

Bucky pushes the thought away forcefully. He can’t think like that.

Speaking of Steve, Bucky is about to glance around to look for him when he catches sight of the couple dancing a few feet away. It’s Edith, he can tell it’s her even in the dim lights, but the man she’s being twirled around by is very clearly  _ not _ Steve, with huge shoulders and slick black hair. Bucky stops in his tracks and stares, then cranes his neck around to look at the booth. Steve isn’t there anymore.

“Bucky?”

He glances back down at Louise and steps back. “Sorry to do this to you, doll, but I’ve gotta get going.”

She frowns at him and places a gentle hand on his arm. “What’s wrong?” she asks, then follows Bucky’s pointed gaze to where Edith’s laughing on the man’s arm. “Oh. Jeez, Bucky, I’m so sorry, I had no idea she’d treat your friend like that. She’s usually very—”

“Forget about it,” Bucky dismisses, shooting her a strained smile. “I’ll see you around.”

He bursts out onto the cold street and looks around. Steve’s nowhere in sight, but Bucky’s willing to bet he’s headed straight home. Bucky strides down the street quickly, worry building in his chest as his breath puffs out of him in little white clouds. Cold, dry weather like this always makes Steve’s asthma act up, and Bucky’s willing to bet he’d left his asthma cigarettes at home. He always does, that’s why Bucky carries an extra pack with him wherever he goes, but they’re little use to Steve sitting in his pocket.

He picks up his pace, shoving his right hand in his pocket to fiddle with the box. Less than two blocks away from their apartment he catches sight of a small figure leaning against a wall, arms braced on their knees, and he switches into a jog, already pulling out a cigarette. As he gets closer he can hear the distinct sound of wheezing and he curses under his breath.

“Hey, hey, Stevie, you’re alright,” he rambles as he reaches Steve, fumbling to light the cigarette and press it against Steve’s mouth. Steve closes his lips over it and sucks in, coughing as the fumes enter his lungs and relax his airway. “There you go,” Bucky praises, rubbing a hand up and down Steve’s back. He keeps at it until Steve’s wheezing and coughing turns into gasping. “Perfect. That’s it, Steve just breathe.”

Steve nods and straightens up, hand still rubbing at his chest. “I’m okay,” he rasps, and Bucky droops in relief.

“Jesus, Steve, you’re gonna give me a heart attack one of these days,” he scolds. “You shoulda told me you were leaving, I would have at least given you the cigs.”

Steve starts stumbling forwards down the sidewalk. Bucky slings an arm over his shoulders to keep him steady, biting his tongue to keep himself from suggesting that they wait for a minute and let Steve take a break. He knows the stupid punk wouldn’t listen. 

“Didn’t wanna bother you. And I thought I could make it home.”

Bucky purses his lips disapprovingly and sighs. “What happened?”

“Whadya mean what happened? You saw her, Buck, she thought I was pathetic! I told you this wasn’t a good idea.”

“She’s stupid,” Bucky asserts. “Blind, too.”

Steve just shakes his head.

“...I’m sorry,” Bucky says after a few moments. “I shoulda listened when you said you didn’t want to go out. I just wanted to spend some time with you, ‘s all.”

Steve glances at him out of the corner of his eye. “We can spend time together without having to take out girls.”

“I know that,” Bucky says, “but that’s kinda hard to do when someone’s avoiding you like the plague.”

Steve sighs as the trek up the steps to the tenement. “Guess that’s true,” he mumbles. “Sorry, Buck.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it, bud. I’d get sick of hanging around me, too.”

He gives Steve a toothy grin and Steve snorts. “Any sane person would,” he jests, and Bucky pokes him in the ribs in retaliation.

“Don’t think I’m giving up on finding you a girl though, Rogers. There’s a whole gaggle of dames out there who’d fall over their feet to snag a guy like you, and I’m gonna find you one of them,” he vows. Steve just rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, sure, Buck. Whatever.”

Bucky frowns, because Steve sounds about as keen on the prospect as he is, but he hopes that’ll change, once Bucky manages to find Steve a girl so nice that he’ll forget all about all this talk of queerness. And maybe, just maybe, if Steve has someone else to love him and treat him right, Bucky’ll forget all about queerness, too.

⋆⋆✰⋆⋆

Just as Steve knew he would, Bucky keeps up the stream of double dates over the next several months. Steve’s protests and grumblings are always met with puppy eyes and pouty lips that inevitably wear him down and force him to agree.

They aren’t  _ all _ bad. Plenty of the girls are actually very nice, and occasionally Steve finds himself genuinely enjoying their company. Steve likes girls, loves them, especially the ones with a sharp attitude and a killer smile. Like Ruby, who meets them at Coney Island with her twin sister Esther and sticks by Steve’s side even though he can’t go on a lot of the rides. The warm air is offset by a gentle breeze that whisks the sweat from their skin and makes her hair wisp around her face. She has a witty sense of humor that has Steve in stitches, and he buys a cotton candy to split with her, the sugar staining their lips blue as they eat it on the shore. When she boldly asks Steve for a kiss he agrees eagerly, breath catching as their lips touch.

She’s swell, perfect really, and yet…

“Your heart’s not in this,” she sighs as she pulls back. 

Steve winces. “No, no, I am! Really, I am, you’re a real nice gal, it’s just—”

“There’s someone else?” She smiles knowingly. 

“Yeah.” Steve breathes. “Yeah, there is. But it’s never going to happen, so I’m willing to give this a shot if you are.”

Steve can see her considering it, but he can also see the moment she makes up her mind. The hope in his chest sinks, but strangely, there’s some relief there, too. “I’m sorry, Steve,” she says, and he shakes his head.

“I’m the one who should be saying sorry.”

They sit in awkward silence for a few moments before she takes a deep breath and turns to him with a smile. “Betcha I can beat you at the ring toss.”

He grins at her. “Oh, you’re on.”

She does beat him, brutally, but Steve is okay with that. His main motivation when playing had been to win her a bear as a prize, but she succeeds in doing that for herself. They waste some more time and money at the other booths until they run into Bucky and Esther, who’s carrying her own small collection of stuffed animals and a pinwheel. She greets her twin with a squeal while Ruby, who is far more reserved in personality from what Steve has seen, rolls her eyes fondly.

They all buy some hotdogs together before taking the train back to Brooklyn, where they walk the girls home while chatting with one another. All of them are sporting burns from late spring sun, but the temperature has finally started to sink with the sun. It’s nearly dark when they reach the girls’ front door. Ruby gives Steve a kiss on the cheek in parting and laughs when Steve blushes.

“Well?” Bucky says eagerly as they start walking home. “How’d it go?”

Steve smiles softly and shrugs. “Good.”

“Good? Just  _ good _ ? I saw the way she was looking at you Steve, c’mon! Give me some details!” He slings and arm over Steve’s shoulders and bodily drags him against his side, ruffling his hair up for good measure.

Steve elbows Bucky in the ribs in retaliation and rolls his eyes. “I said it was good, Buck, what else do you wanna know?”

“Well, did ya kiss?” He gapes when Steve turns red, grinning toothily. “You did! You sly dog, when are you gonna take her out again?”

“I’m not.”

Bucky stops right in the middle of the sidewalk, nearly making Steve stumble. “What?” He squawks, “what do you mean you’re not?”

“I mean I’m not, Buck,” Steve huffs. “We both agreed that even though we liked each other, we weren’t interested in anything more. I’ll find a girl when I’m ready, Bucky. You shoving dates at me just isn’t going to work.”

Bucky complains and grumbles and rants the rest of the way home, complete with wide hand gestures that almost make him accidentally hit Steve in the face a few times. Steve just nods along and pretends to listen until Bucky gets the hint and shuts up. “Fine,” he relents, “go ahead and stay single for the rest of your life, see if I care.” He crosses his arms over his chest angrily and Steve quirks an eyebrow at him.

“Why do you even care so much about my love life anyway, huh?”

“Because I want you to be happy!” Bucky retorts, and Steve can’t help the soft smile that spreads across his lips as he bumps his shoulder against Bucky’s.

“I am happy, jerk. I’ve got a good job, a decent place, and you as a friend. And if someday I decide that’s not enough, that I wanna find a dame and settle down, then I’ll let you know.”

Bucky finally cracks a smile, looking pleased. “Yeah, yeah, you make me happy too, ya big punk.” He sighs and kicks at a rock. “Alright, I’ll stop meddling. But we’re still gonna go out on double dates sometimes, because they’re fun.”

“Sometimes,” Steve admits, and Bucky tilts his head in consideration.

“Most of the time. Even when the girls aren’t great company, it’s still nice to go out with you.”

Steve swallows and looks away as his heart skips a beat, wishing foolishly that Bucky meant that the way Steve wants him to.

⋆⋆✰⋆⋆

Bucky keeps his promise and stops dragging Steve out so much, though he does still go on quite a few dates himself. It’s hard, watching Bucky get all dolled up only to come back late in the night or early the next morning disheveled. Before… well, Steve had known that Bucky was still taking girls out of course, but it was more distant. He didn’t see it happening, and he rarely ever heard about it, so he was able to pretend like it wasn’t a big deal.

But it is.

It  _ hurts _ , knowing that the man he loves more than anything spends so many of his nights in some dame’s bed. Hurts to think of their hands all over him, their mouths on him, their scent on him. Hurts even more to see the evidence of it himself first-hand.

Like now, when Bucky stumbles through the door at god knows what time, rousing Steve from his slumber. Steve blearily sits up and gets out of bed to flick on the lamp, and Bucky winces momentarily before his eyes adjust and he grins.

“Stevie!” He greets, listing slightly to the side as tries to tug off his shoes. Steve sighs and plucks an orange leaf out of his hair, likely fallen from one of the trees that line the sidewalk on his journey home. He lets it flutter to the floor to deal with later and gently pushes Bucky onto his bed and unties his shoelaces for him. 

“Missed you, Steve,” Bucky slurs, smiling up at Steve dopily.

Steve pointedly rakes his eyes over Bucky’s mussed up hair, the wrinkles on his clothes, the lipstick smeared on his neck. Yeah, he thinks sarcastically, Bucky obviously spent the night pining over him.

But he doesn’t mention any of that, just tosses Bucky’s shoes to the floor and moves on to tugging off his pants. “You were only gone for a couple hours, Buck.”

Bucky shakes his head vehemently. “Even a second away from you ‘s too long, doll.”

Steve takes a moment to close his eyes, pained. He wishes Bucky wouldn’t say things like that, not when he doesn’t mean them. “You coulda come back,” he points out, voice rough. “Coulda come home early and spent the night with me instead.”

A sad expression clouds Bucky’s face and he gazes up at Steve longingly. “Can’t. Wish I could, Stevie, but I can’t. I don’t want—”

“Hey, it’s fine, Bucky,” Steve soothes, cutting him off before he has to listen to Bucky explain how he doesn’t want Steve, not that way. “Forget I said anything. Can you sit up again so I can get your shirt off?”

Bucky clumsily obeys and Steve finally manages to strip Bucky down to his boxers. Steve himself is bundled up in sleep clothes and a light sweater to fight off the fall chill, but Bucky has always run hot and claims he can’t fall asleep unless he’s nearly naked. Which, Steve should mention, is both a blessing and a curse.

He pulls the blankets up over Bucky and tucks him in carefully, smiling softly as Bucky hums and nuzzles into his pillow. “Sleep well, Buck,” Steve whispers, and Bucky mumbles something unintelligible in return.

Long after he’s switched the light off and climbed back into bed, Steve lies awake, staring up at the ceiling in the dark and listening to Bucky’s rumbling snores, wishing he lived in a world where he didn’t have to be afraid to love.


	5. Crawling Back For More

“Hey, what happened to Billy?”

Timothy glances up disinterestedly from where he’s reading the newspaper, sitting in one of the chairs for sale. Normally no one is allowed to sit on the merchandise, but Timothy is the owner’s son, so Bucky figures it’s probably best to leave him be. The shop is empty at the moment anyhow—business has been slow since the new year wrung in, people sticking to their resolutions to save up money, at least for now. Bucky’s sure that within a few weeks it’ll be back to normal.

Bucky doesn’t like Timothy much. They’re about the same age, but Timothy just acts so much more immature. Bucky has caught himself thinking several times that Timothy seems just like the type of fella Steve would pick a fight with. He supposes he should be grateful that the two haven’t met yet.

“Huh?” Timothy says, raising an eyebrow. God, Bucky honestly cannot tell why the guy likes to act so pretentious. Sure, his Pa owns the shop, but that doesn’t give him the right to act like he’s better than everyone else.

“Billy,” Bucky repeats slowly, “the guy who worked the counter here. Did he quit?”

Timothy’s bored look disappears, replaced by something like a mix of excitement and revulsion. “Didn’t ya hear?”

“No,” Bucky says shortly, resisting the urge to roll his eyes, “otherwise I wouldn’t be askin’”

“The guy was a fairy. My Pa found out and fired him on the spot. Fucker’s lucky I wasn’t here that day, I woulda taught him a real lesson, y’know?” Timothy sneers conspiratorially and Bucky gulps. To his horror, he feels his skin pale, and Timothy notices. He squints his eyes suspiciously and stands up, striding to the counter with faux-casualness. “Say, Barnes, you wouldn’t happen to have that same problem now, wouldya?”

Bucky shakes his head vehemently. “Of course not! I just—It makes me sick, y’know, to think I’ve been working with someone like that this whole time. Never even woulda suspected.”

Timothy relaxes and Bucky does too, even though his stomach feels sick and his hands feel shaky. 

“Oh believe me pal, I know the feeling. I’m gonna head out, buy myself a milkshake. Wanna tag along?”

“Thanks, but I’ve gotta keep an eye on the shop,” Bucky dismisses, smiling tightly. Timothy shrugs and takes his leave, and Bucky waits until he’s out the door to slump forwards against the counter.

Fuck. That was…that was too damn close, is what that was.

He shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair, trying to breathe deeply. Shit. He wonders if Billy’s okay, if he got beaten or killed or worse, sent off to one of those camps Bucky’s heard whispers about. Either way, the poor kid’s life is probably ruined. Billy had been a nice fella too, always polite and soft-spoken, never stirring up any trouble. Real scrawny too, in a way that sometimes reminded Bucky of Steve, when he was able to look past their polar opposite personalities.

The thought of something like that happening to Steve crosses his mind, and Bucky has to fight down a wave of nausea. He wouldn’t let that happen. He  _ won’t _ . No matter how he feels about Steve, how much he loves to kiss him and hold him, how much he finds himself wanting more, he won’t allow that to happen. Even if it means Bucky can never really love him the way he wants to.

⋆⋆✰⋆⋆

The next time Steve moves in to kiss him, Bucky flinches back automatically. He doesn’t mean to do it, honest, but it’s too late and Steve is pulling back with a hurt expression. Bucky panics and stutters out some excuse about how he forgot to pick something up from the store and has to go get it immediately.

When he comes home with a loaf of bread in hand, Steve raises an eyebrow. “That’s why you had to leave so suddenly? Bucky, we have half a loaf in the breadbox still.”

Bucky blushes slightly and shrugs. “Oh. Thought we were out,” he mumbles lamely. Steve eyes him with concern.

“Are you feeling alright, Buck? You’ve been acting weird for days now.”

“I’m fine, Steve. I’m gonna go make us some sandwiches—might as well use all this bread up.” He disappears into the kitchen before Steve can reply. He sighs once he’s out of sight and rubs a hand down his face, trying to force himself to cool down and act normal.

It keeps happening. After a week, Steve gives up trying to make physical contact with Bucky at all, though he certainly doesn’t seem happy about it. He takes to eyeing Bucky with a hurt puppy dog expression whenever Bucky is in the same room as him, silently asking for an explanation that Bucky just can’t bring himself to give. So he starts staying out of the house more instead, taking out dames nearly every chance he gets and dwindling his earnings away on dinner dates and alcohol.

It’s better this way, he tells himself. It’s better for him and Steve to just forget about their whole thing—whatever it even was—and just go back to being friends. But telling himself that doesn’t get rid of the ache in his chest; the longing in his heart when he catches sight of Steve’s pink lips, the jump in his lower stomach when he discreetly watches Steve change clothes before bed. The girls don’t get rid of any of it either, but the booze, at least, allows his thoughts to go fuzzy.

He’s not sure how long he’ll be able to go on like this, how long he’ll be able to resist the temptation. He’s weak when it comes to Stevie, always has been, so he doubts he’ll last. He’ll sure as hell try, though, especially if it means keeping Steve safe.

⋆⋆✰⋆⋆

Steve jolts awake to a weight dipping down his mattress. He tenses for a moment, unsure what’s going on, and sighs as he catches the scent of sharp liquor and a mixture of cologne and perfume. The sigh turns into a sharp exhale as a whoosh of air escapes his lungs when Bucky drops his weight onto Steve, nuzzling into Steve’s neck.

“Bucky, what—this isn’t your damn bed, Buck, get offa me.”

“Don’ wanna,” Bucky declares, squirming as Steve groggily tries to push him away. “I miss you, Stevie. Wanna hold you.”

Steve freezes, muscles tensing in anger. This might have been cute before, but now? After Bucky’s spent the past month avoiding him, flinching away whenever Steve so much as looked at him? It’s Bucky’s own damn fault he ‘misses’ Steve so much, and at this point, Steve isn’t sure Bucky even really misses him at all.

He takes in a breath to start tearing Bucky a new one, but is interrupted when Bucky’s lips smush against his own, their teeth clacking together in Bucky’s clumsy drunkenness. Steve halts in surprise, holding still as Bucky licks into his mouth. Bucky tastes like whiskey and something sweet, his lips slightly chilled from the weather outside, and for a split-second Steve considers just giving in and letting Bucky have his way with him. He’s missed this, Bucky’s hands on him, his mouth on him. Hell, even missed just having Bucky near him at all. And Lord knows if Bucky is going to change his mind in the morning and make himself scarce again, so maybe Steve should just lie back and enjoy this while he can.

He almost gives in, almost starts kissing back, until Bucky’s hand worms its way between them to paw at the front of Steve’s pants, and he abruptly realizes how pathetic he’s being.

“Get the hell off of me, Buck,” he barks, shoving at Bucky’s shoulder’s harshly. Bucky surrenders immediately as he registers the genuine anger in Steve’s tone, scrambling back and losing his balance. He lands on his butt on the foot of Steve’s mattress, only narrowly avoiding tumbling off completely.

“Sorry, sorry, I—”

“Damn right you should be sorry!” Steve rants. Bucky blinks blearily at him, obviously trying to sober up and take stock of the situation. “You have no right, Bucky! You don’t just get to ignore me for a month and then crawl into my bed with no explanation!”

“I—fuck, ‘m sorry, Steve; I just miss you—”

“No, you don’t. If you missed me then you would actually apologize and start spending time with me again! No, what you miss is having an easy lay at your beck and call, ready to bend over for you when all the girls just aren’t cutting it.”

Bucky gapes at him, looking stricken, and shakes his head fervently. “No! Jesus, Stevie, I don’t see you like that at all! I— _ dammit _ Steve, you’re my best friend—”

“Am I?” Steve retorts hotly. “Because you sure as hell haven’t been treating me like it these past few weeks.”

“You are, Steve, I swear it! I—fuck.” Bucky’s face crumples and he drags a hand over it, as if he can wipe away the pain showing there. “I fucked up. I’m sorry, Steve,” he says meekly, looking up at Steve with big doe eyes. Steve huffs and shakes his head, climbing out of the bed and hissing as his feet hit the cold floor.

He barely makes it a step before Bucky’s hand is shooting out to encircle his wrist. When Steve glares at him and shakes the grip off, Bucky tangles his fist in Steve’s sleepshirt instead. 

“Wait,” he says desperately. “I—I know I’ve been awful, but you don’t gotta leave! Please don’t leave me, Stevie, I need ya, I swear I do.”

Steve looks at Bucky’s panicked expression and sighs as some of his anger melts away. “I ain’t leavin’, Buck,” he promises. “I’m just gonna get you some water so you can sober up.”

Bucky searches Steve’s eyes in the dim light and relaxes, letting his hand drop limply back down to the bed. “M’kay,” he mumbles, looking about as drained as Steve feels.

Steve gazes out the window as he fills up the glass, squinting against the light. It’s already morning, just an hour before Steve would normally wake up. Bucky is damn lucky that today is his day off, otherwise he’d have to go to work drunk. He must have drunk a lot to still be feeling it, and based on the fact that it’s so late (or early, depending on your perspective), Steve can only assume Bucky spent the night making time with some dame.

Steve’s stomach twists at the thought. He can’t keep this up. He can’t keep pining over a man who spends his time chasing skirts. More than that, he  _ won’t _ . Most of the time Steve is doubtful about what he might or might not deserve, but he knows he doesn’t deserve that.

He tells Bucky as much once he’s wrangled him into drinking his water and slipping out of his dress clothes. There’s a fresh hickey on his neck that’s taunting Steve, flushed proudly against Bucky’s skin. Any marks Steve had once left are long faded, replaced by ones made by girls he doesn’t even know the names of.

“I can’t keep doing this.”

Bucky jerks his head up, looking worried again. “I thought you said you wouldn’t leave,” he argues, and Steve shakes his head.

“That’s not what I meant. I can keep living with you, and I can keep being your friend, provided you get your act together. But I can’t be more than that, not if I have to watch you throw yourself at dame after dame. I can’t handle it. So we either keep doing what we’re doing—the ‘fooling around’ as you call it—and stop seeing other people, or we stop completely. It’s all or nothing, Buck, and I’m really hoping you’ll say all.”

Bucky bites his lip, looking torn, and shakes his head. Steve feels all the hope drain out of him at once. Bucky winces when he notices, looking at Steve remorsefully. “I’m sorry, Steve, I just can’t—”

“Don’t. You don’t hafta explain, Bucky, I get it. Just…I meant it, Buck. From now on, we ain’t doing anything more than just being friendly.” 

Bucky nods solemnly and Steve sighs, rubbing the back of his neck before turning to the dresser and grabbing some clothes. “I’m gonna head out for a bit, do some sketching at the park. You get some rest.”

“You’re leaving already? But it’s so early, it’ll be too cold for you to—”

“Shut it, Buck,” Steve snaps, and Bucky clamps his jaw shut, looking angry, guilty, and worried all at the same time. Steve hesitates in the doorway and glances back at him, offering a strained smile. “See ya later.”

⋆⋆✰⋆⋆

Steve doesn’t come home until that evening. Bucky had been just about to head out and hunt him down, because dammit, it’s way too cold out for Steve to be in the snow. He gets as far as tugging on his socks before the front door creaks open and Steve steps in, rosy cheeked and shivering. Bucky curses under his breath and shepherds Steve onto the couch, covering him in all the blankets they own.

“I- I’m f-fine, Buck-cky,” Steve stutters, teeth clacking together as he shakes. Bucky just glares at him before disappearing into the kitchen to make him some tea.

After two cups, Steve’s tremors start to die down enough for him to hold the cup without sloshing it everywhere. Bucky eyes him disapprovingly and shakes his head. “Were you out there in the snow the entire day?”

“No,” Steve dissents, “I went to a coffee shop for breakfast and stayed there for a coupla hours.”

“Did you eat lunch?” Bucky questions, and Steve frowns at him.

“That’s none of your damn business, Buck. You ain’t my ma, and you ain’t my wife either.” He spits the last part bitterly, and Bucky shrinks a bit under the weight of Steve’s anger. He’s been trying his best to forget about that morning, but apparently Steve hasn’t been doing the same.

“Steve,” he sighs, “I really am sorry about earlier—”

“Just forget it, Buck. It’s fine, it’s over, and we’re still friends. That’s all there is to it.”

Bucky gnaws on the inside of his cheek fretfully and nods. “Yeah, alright,” he mutters.

They sit in silence until the awkwardness builds so much that Bucky considers heading out to escape it. But Steve deserves better after how Bucky has been treating him lately, so instead he plasters on a smile and turns to Steve.

“Wanna listen to the radio with me?”

Steve exhales slowly and gives Bucky a small smile, looking relieved that the tension has been broken. “Sure,” he says, and soon enough he’s giggling over Bucky’s horrible impression of Eddie Duchin. Bucky’s heart swells as he listens to Steve laugh, and he lets himself believe that maybe, just maybe, everything will turn out okay.

⋆⋆✰⋆⋆

Winter melts into spring again, white snow replaced by green grass and budding flowers. Steve’s been living with Buck for nearly a year and a half now, which surprises Steve to no end. It feels as if barely any time has passed at all since the day they lugged all of their belongings up here. After Sarah’s death, Steve had thought the months would drag on with unbearable slowness.

He’s still not over her passing—doesn’t think he ever will be—but he’s better now. The wound in his heart has had time to heal over, and while he still misses her, it’s more manageable than it used to be. Things are a lot better, and Steve supposes he has Bucky to thank for that.

Speaking of which, things with Bucky have been okay, too. It had been awkward between them at first, both of them having gotten used to the more intimate aspects of their friendship over the years. But they work through it, and Steve is proud to say he hasn’t given into temptation and taken the whole thing back just to have Bucky’s lips on him again, though he’s certainly considered it a couple of times...

And this is one of them.

Bucky’s gone again, out on some date with a gal named Mabel, so Steve is left to stew in his misery in the empty apartment. The truth is, he’s  _ lonely _ . Before, Bucky’s touch had been enough to soothe the longing inside him, but without that, he has nothing. Bucky obviously doesn’t have the same issue, what with the steady stream of dames on his arm, though he has been better about staying home more often. But the nights he does go out, Steve’s left alone and aggrieved, and quite frankly, Steve is getting sick of it.

So maybe that’s what spurs Steve to put on a nice outfit and stride out the door towards one of the soda shops he knows is still open.

The thing is, Steve is perfectly capable of finding a girl who might be interested in him—he just hasn’t ever really wanted to before. But tonight—tonight, he pays attention to the tables around him, crowded with the dinner rush and buzzing with activity. He lets his gaze flit over any of the girls sitting on their own and tries to gauge whether or not they’ll throw a drink in his face for even trying. He doesn’t have much hope, but to his surprise he spots one girl looking straight at him. She blushes when he smiles politely at her, and Steve lets his smile spread into a grin.

He approaches the table tentatively, watching to see if she gives him even the slightest sign to back off. She doesn’t, and when he pulls out the chair in front of her and asks if he can take it she looks down and nods.

“Steve Rogers,” he introduces, “nice to meet you.”

She glances up at him through her lashes. She’s pretty, Steve notices, with fair curly hair and a blue dress. A little on the heavier side, but Steve’s never paid much attention to that and he certainly isn’t going to now. “Beatrice Kaufman. I—we’ve met before.”

Steve blinks. “We have?” he asks dumbly, and she nods.

“A couple months ago. Some jerk was giving me a hard time when I was walking home one night. You swooped in out of nowhere and punched him straight in the face. I was new in town and I was scared so I took off, but later I realized I should have at least thanked you. That was very brave of you.”

Steve thinks he can vaguely remember that, but honestly, he gets into so many fights that they all kind of blend together. He blushes at the praise and shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it, it’s what any decent fella would have done.”

“It’s not,” she insists. “I never thought I’d run into you again. Can…” she hesitates, then visibly steels herself. “Can I buy you a milkshake?”

Steve bites down his automatic refusal and smiles instead. “I’ll split it with you,” he bargains, and she agrees.

She ends up being nice company. They talk until the shop closes, her telling him about how she moved here from Virginia to stay with a friend after her family died. They talk about what she likes in Brooklyn so far and the places she should check out, and somehow their conversation shifts into books they’ve read. Steve is pleased to find they have similar tastes, and he takes her on a walk in the park once they leave just to keep the conversation going. They’re sitting on a bench, the conversation having lulled into a brief silence, when she suddenly glances shyly at him and leans in, covering Steve’s lips with her own. Steve makes a soft noise of surprise but kisses her back eagerly, her lips soft and velvety against his own.

It’s strange. She’s all curves where Steve is used to hard muscle, and he can taste the red paint on her lips. But it’s also nice, and soon enough they’re both blushing as they pull apart for air. She smiles at him, then winces and shakes her head remorsefully.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Steve asks worriedly.

Her eyes are sad and full of regret when she glances back up at him. “I’m sorry, Steve, I shouldn’t have done that. You’re a great guy, but my parents—it’s too soon. For me to start anything right now.”

“I understand. My ma died a year or so back, so I certainly ain’t gonna be the one to judge you for needing some time to get your life in order.”

She smiles at him gratefully and apologizes again, but Steve just waves her off and walks her home, seeing to it that she gets through the door safely.

Steve absently kicks a rock as he starts back down the sidewalk. He’s disappointed, sure. She was a nice girl, and he thinks he would have enjoyed seeing her again. But he’s also strangely relieved for some reason he can’t pinpoint. Which doesn’t make any sense, because he had been the one to seek out her company in the first place. It had been nice, but it hadn’t been what he needed. But then… what exactly  _ does _ he need?

He’s exhausted by the time he gets home, worn out from the day’s emotions and socializing and walking. Bucky’s not back yet, but Steve hadn’t expected him to be, and he’s just grateful he won’t have to explain where he’s been. He’s too tired for anymore talking today. He doesn’t bother to brush his teeth or wash his face; just shrugs on his pajamas and falls straight into bed, sighing as he sinks into the pillows and falls into sleep’s embrace.

⋆⋆✰⋆⋆

He shuffles into the kitchen the next morning to find Bucky awake and making breakfast. Bucky glances at him with a greeting on his lips and does a double take. 

“Are you—do you have lipstick smeared on your face?”

Steve brings a hand up to rub at his mouth and frowns when it comes away tinged red. “Huh. Guess so. I didn’t notice it last night.”

Bucky stares at him incredulously. “But you stayed home last night!”

“No,” Steve says slowly, “I went out. Left a while after you did.”

Bucky gapes at him. “What? You—hell, Steve, you shoulda told me if you wanted to come out! You could have come with me.”

Steve shrugs and nudges Bucky aside to grab a cup from the cupboard. “It wasn’t a big deal, Buck, I can go out on my own. Besides, I had fun.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet you did,” Bucky grumbles, and Steve side eyes him.

“Do you have a problem, Bucky? I thought you’d be thrilled that I was finally getting around.”

Bucky blinks and shakes his head, plastering on a smile. “Yeah. No, I mean—Sorry, I’m just tired today. I’m proud of you, Stevie. Just, y’know, as long as you’re happy and all that.”

“I am,” Steve says carefully, still watching Bucky from the corner of his eye as he pours his coffee. Bucky’s acting strange today—but then again, Bucky’s always a little strange.

“Great! Glad to hear that.” His grin is showing too much teeth to be normal, and he blushes when Steve cocks an eyebrow. “Want some eggs?”

Steve sighs and shakes his head. “Sure, Buck. Scrambled.”

“You’ve got it.”


	6. On The Other Side

A couple days later, when Bucky is out at work and Steve is hunched over his sketchpad, a thought occurs to him. He’s sketching out an ad for one of Mr. Mortenson’s new toys, a plush bear holding a little heart in its paws. As he carefully shades in the bright red heart, he starts to think that maybe there actually is a reason he had been so relieved at being turned down by Beatrice.

The thing is, you see, that with girls, it’s all about romance. Most of the time being with a gal is a commitment of sorts—you have to treat them right, take it slow, win their favor. And while Steve likes the idea of that, he’s not ready for romance. Not so soon after Bucky, not when he’s still hopelessly in love with him. It wouldn’t be fair to himself or any potential girl he’s courting to start something while his heart still belongs to someone else. Now, of course, the question is how does he move on without actually moving on? What he needs is a step in the right direction; a distraction, someone who would be okay with something casual.

He knows he won’t find that with a dame. The girls who do notice him aren’t interested in his body so much as his personality—which is good, but not for what he’s trying to accomplish. So, Steve thinks as runs his pencil across the paper, perhaps it’s worth finding out if that applies to men as well.

The thought makes his heart jump nervously. He’s never been that interested in any guy other than Bucky, but he’s not altogether opposed to the idea. And he doesn’t know much about queers, but he’s fairly certain they’re more casual when it comes to their exploits, if a bit more cautious.

Steve considers the idea more and more over the next few days, and by the time the weekend comes and Bucky has headed out for a date, Steve is jittery with anticipation. He takes his time fiddling with his hair and smoothing out his clothes, dawdling as much as he can until he’s run out of excuses and built up some courage.

Tucker’s is just a short walk away. Steve’s never been in before, but he passes by it fairly frequently and he’s heard whispers about it, so he’s somewhat familiar with the place. Warm light shines through the glass panes in the doorway, and Steve stands in front of them and squares his shoulders before striding in. The chime of a bell signals his entrance, but only one or two people glance up as he halts mid step. This…isn’t what he was expecting.

It looks exactly like a normal bar, albeit a small one. There are a few men, but quite a few of them have a dame on their shoulder. Confused, Steve wanders to the bar on the far side and plunks onto a stool, glancing around the room like he’ll suddenly find it to be filled with queens and queers. Is he even in the right place?

“What can I getcha, son?”

Steve spins around and looks at the bartender. He’s a bit scraggly looking, but his face is open and kind. Steve blinks and him, then squints up at the menu. There’re only two options: beer or whiskey. Doesn’t sound like a very scrupulous business model, if you ask Steve. 

“Oh, uh, I’ll take a beer, I guess. Um…this is Tucker’s, right?”

“Sure is. That’s what the sign says, at least.” The man looks him up and down, then lowers his voice and leans in slightly. “Why? Were you expecting something a bit more…queer?”

Steve hesitates, because the implications in that are obvious and he’s not looking to get arrested. But the man seems calm about it so Steve takes a risk and slowly nods. “Uh, yeah, actually.”

The bartender glances at him, assessing, then jerks his head to the side. “Might find what you’re looking for through that backdoor.”

Steve follows his gaze to the inconspicuous door in the right-hand corner, slightly hidden behind some barrels and perpendicular to the bathroom. “Okay. Thanks.”

The bartender inclines his head in acknowledgment and moves back down the bar to greet the couple who just sat down. Steve only falters for a moment before following the man’s directions. He glances back as he turns the handle, but no one seems to be paying much attention to him.

The door opens to a small storage area with a dimly lit staircase leading underground on one end. Steve can hear the sound of faint music floating up to him, so he shrugs and sets off down the rickety wooden steps. They end in front of another door, and Steve shoves it open and grins.

There’s a whole ‘nother bar down here, complete with an area for dancing and booths shoved along the sides. It’s brimming with men, most of them wearing elaborate makeup and dresses that swish around their knees as they dance. Count Basie is blaring over the speakers and there’s two fellas necking in one corner.  _ This _ is what Steve had been looking for.

He plops down at the bar again, a nervous smile on his lips. The bartender glances at him and finishes up what he’s doing before making his way over with a friendly smile. “First time here?”

Steve nods, and the guy nods back. “Thanks for coming by. My name’s Mike, and I’m betting Tucker was the one who sent ya down. He’s my husband.”

Steve scrunches his eyebrows together and opens his mouth, but Mike beats him to it.

“Just ‘cause it ain’t legal don’t mean we ain’t married,” he declares, and Steve clamps his mouth shut and nods.

“Right. Sorry,” he says sheepishly, but Mike just grins at him and waves a hand.

“No problem. Want anything to drink?”

“A beer, please,” Steve requests, fishing some change out of his pocket and handing it over. “This is a neat set up you got here, with this being underground and all.”

Mike grins broadly at him. “It is, ain’t it? Used to be a speakeasy before the prohibition, then Tuck and I bought it and turned it into this.”

Mike whips up his drink and slides it over, and Steve gulps down a fair amount before setting the glass back down. He’s gonna need all the courage he can get tonight, liquid or not.

He lurks at the bar for a while, eyeing the crowd and trying to come up with some kinda strategy. Should he go sit in one of the booths by himself? Or just approach someone outright? He’s out of his element and he doesn’t like it at all. Usually he at least has Bucky by his side to guide him in social settings, but now he’s all on his own and in a situation he’s never been in before.

Before he can work himself into too much of a panic, he feels a light tap on his shoulder and suddenly realizes the stool beside him is now occupied. The man is wearing a short brown wig, thick eyeliner, and a powder blue dress. He blinks in surprise when Steve faces him, then squints.

“Hey, I know you.”

Steve frowns, because he’s fairly certain they’ve never met, but then it clicks and his mouth makes an ‘oh’ in recognition. “You live in my building! I’m Steve. Your name’s Roth, right?”

He smiles slyly, red painted lip stretching enticingly. “Not tonight it ain’t. I go by Dorothy here, Dottie for short. Makes me sound prettier.”

“I think you’re plenty pretty all on your own,” Steve blurts, then realizes what he’s said and turns bright red. Dottie throws back his head and laughs, looking delighted.

“You’re a real charmer, aren’t ya, Steve? Say, where’s your fella at?”

Steve tilts his head. “My…fella? I don’t got one. That’s kinda why I came here.”

“Really? What about that handsome brunette I always see ya around with?”

Steve blushes and looks down, shaking his head. “Oh. Nah, that’s just Bucky. He ain’t my fella.”

He must have let more remorse slip into his tone than he meant to, because Dottie twists his lips sympathetically and places a hand on Steve’s knee. “It’s like that, huh?”

Steve shrugs. “He likes dames. I do too, I just…”

“Like men too,” Dottie fills in, and Steve nods, relieved someone gets it.

“Yeah exactly,” he says. “Is that normal? I always thought you could only like one or the other.”

Dottie laughs again. “Oh honey, none of us are normal. But it ain’t a bad thing, no.”

Steve relaxes slightly, some tension he hadn’t even realized he had always carried loosening. He takes another gulp of his beer and glances back at Dottie, a question occurring to him. “Um, I don’t mean to offend, but are you…I mean, should I call you…?” He stutters and trails off awkwardly, but Dottie seems to understand well enough.

“Call me whatever you like, sugar. Him, her, hunk, honey—anything flies with me. That’s not true for all the queens here though, so it’s good to ask.”

Steve nods and blows out a long breath. “Okay, yeah, right. Good to know.” He glances back over to see Dottie looking at him with a smile twinkling in his eyes. “What?”

“Nothin’,” Dottie says. “Just… you really are a chicken, huh?”

“Hey!” Steve protests, somewhat offended, and Dottie holds a placating hand out.

“That’s not a bad thing!” 

Steve squints at him suspiciously and Dottie shoots him a charming smile. “Look, around here, chicken means a queer fella who’s young, scrawny, and inexperienced. Way I see it, you’re all three.”

“I’m not inexperienced,” Steve protests petulantly, and Dottie quirks a sculpted eyebrow.

“Really? Tell me, Steve, if a guy here asked to take for you a spin in the tea room, what would your response be?”

Steve blinks. “There’s a tea room here? I thought it was just a bar.”

Dottie smiles. “It is. If a fella asks you that, he’s askin’ to fuck you in the bathroom.”

“Oh,” Steve says weakly. There’s so much he doesn’t know, so much he has to learn, lest he accidentally agree to something he misunderstood. Dottie claps a hand on his shoulder and smiles.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. I’ll teach you all there is to know, sugar.”

And he does. He sits by Steve for the rest of the night, pointing out which guys are nice and which ones to avoid, walking him through the terminology and what not to say unless he wants to get punched in the face. He accentuates his words with broad gestures and dramatic expressions, and by his fourth beer Steve is giggling at his antics. By his fifth he’s feeling a strange mixture of relaxation and exhilaration, and by his sixth his gaze starts to catch on Dottie’s lips, still immaculate and without a single smudge; his collarbones, framed nicely by the collar of his dress; his eyes, sparkling in the dim light. It doesn’t take long for Dottie to notice, and he gives Steve a coy smirk.

“Wanna get outta here, maybe head somewhere more…private?”

Steve blinks. “With you?”

“No, with Mike,” Dottie deadpans, rolling his eyes. “Yes with me, you big doof.”

Steve blushes, feeling flustered. “Why? I mean—I know  _ why _ , but why me?”

Dottie’s eyes soften and he leans in close to Steve, tracing a finger down Steve’s cheek. Steve shivers at the contact and Dottie smiles. “I know a lotta ladies don’t dig the chicken look, but queers? Most of us  _ love it _ . I, personally, find it very attractive.”

Steve looks at him wide eyed as Dottie stands up from his stool and tugs at his hand. “You coming or not?” He calls over his shoulder, already taking a step away. Steve scrambles to follow after him and Dottie laughs and leads him through a back door up into an alleyway.

The walk back to the tenement is short, and though Dottie assures Steve he won’t get any trouble if he’s seen dressed as he is, they still stick to the shadows and avoid the streetlamps. Dottie’s apartment is a couple floors below Steve’s, and he jiggles the lock open and rushes Steve inside. Steve freezes when he catches sight of a girl their age sitting on a plaid couch, and she glances up at him and groans.

“Again, Roth? This is the second time this week!”

Dottie shrugs unrepentantly and drags Steve towards one of the doors. “You have no room to speak, Jennie. The line of guys and gals parading to your room last month musta been a mile long. Scram.”

The girl, Jennie, grumbles but stands, smoothing down the fabric of her skirt. “I’ll be at Dora’s,” she announces, then promptly walks out the door.

“She seemed nice,” Steve comments idly. Dottie rolls his eyes and finally shoves Steve into what appears to be his bedroom.

“She’s a bitch. I’d be in love with her if I weren’t a flaming fairy. Strip.”

Steve does, stumbling as he toes off his shoes and watches Dottie lay back on the bed alluringly. “Aren’t you gonna take off your clothes?” Steve asks, and Dottie shakes his head.

“I like it better this way. Come here.”

The sheets are slightly scratchy against his skin, the cotton worn and pilled, and the sensation grounds Steve as he lays back against them. He can feel himself sobering up, and he takes in a deep, shuddery breath as Dottie smiles and climbs on top of him, his larger body and billowy dress engulfing Steve’s frame.

Dottie takes it slow, kissing down Steve’s body and trying to relax him, the soft brown hair from his wig tickling Steve’s skin and making him shudder. Steve doesn’t mean to be nervous, but he’s never done anything like this with anyone but Bucky. Dottie’s hands aren’t rough like Bucky’s, and he doesn’t taste the same either. It’s all very different and new, but it’s still nice, in its own way. Eventually all the kissing and necking wear him down and soon he’s squirming in the sheets, feeling the soft fabric of Dottie’s dress brushing across him.

That’s the first night Steve ever receives a suck job, and it’s the first night he ever gives one, too. Dottie coaches him through it, and Steve feels absolutely filthy with his head under Dottie’s dress and between his thighs. 

He loves it.

In the aftermath, they both lay there panting and sweaty. Eventually Dottie sighs and rolls over to face him, a serious expression on his face. His makeup is smudged and his wig is mussed but miraculously still on, and Steve can’t look at his lips without blushing, remembering where they had been minutes before.

“I should have mentioned his earlier,” Dottie begins, “but I don’t want this to mean anything. I like to keep things casual.”

Steve relaxes and gives Dottie a reassuring smile. “That’s exactly what I need. I, um…thank you. For tonight,” he says earnestly, and Dottie blinks, then snorts.

“Never had a guy sound so genuine when thanking me for a suck job before,” he mutters and Steve sits up.

“Hey, it’s—I didn’t mean just for that—”

“I know,” Dottie soothes. “Now get outta here, sugar. You wore me out, and I need my beauty rest.”

“You need no such thing,” Steve flatters, but he stands and stretches his limbs out anyways, hearing something in his back pop satisfyingly. He awkwardly collects his clothes from the floor and tugs them on, halfheartedly attempting to smooth out the wrinkles with little success. “Have a good night, Dot.”

“I already did,” Dottie proclaims smugly. “I’m at the bar pretty often. Maybe I’ll see you around…?”

Steve beams at him, his heart fluttering excitedly at the prospect of doing this again. “Yeah! Yeah, sure. Sounds great.”

His smile lingers all through his trek down the hall and up the stairs through the door of his own apartment. He fumbles with the key in the lock, still a bit tipsy off of alcohol and exhilaration, and nearly jumps a foot in the air when the door swings open from the inside.

“There you are!” Bucky, exclaims, wrapping his fist around the fabric of Steve’s shirt and bodily dragging him inside. “Where the hell have you been?”

Steve frowns hard and bats Bucky’s hand away. He hadn’t expected for Bucky to be back before him, and he certainly hadn’t expected Bucky to be so upset. “Jesus, Buck, I just went out for some drinks. Am I not allowed to do that?”

Bucky scoffs. “Right. Drinks. That’s why your lips are all red and swollen and your clothes are all rumpled. Must have been one hell of a drink, pal,” he sneers, and Steve sets his jaw.

“I don’t see how it’s any of your business  _ what _ I do, Buck. I’m a goddamn adult, and I don’t need your permission to have a good time.”

“A good time, huh? Yeah, I bet you’re having a grand old time, going out by yourself instead of, oh, I don’t know, taking an opportunity to spend some time with your friend.”

Steve gapes at him. “ _ That’s _ what this is about? Are you  _ serious _ , Bucky? How is me going out alone any different than how you ditch me for some dame every weekend?”

“I don’t ditch you, I invite you along every time! And it’s different because you don’t do this, Steve. You never used to act like this—”

“And what’s so wrong with starting now? You’re the one always pressuring me to find a date. If anything, it’s  _ your _ fault I’ve started going out.”

“That’s not—” Bucky cuts off and growls under his breath. “Fine,” he bites out, “whatever. Do whatever you want. But next time, at least have the courtesy to take your damn asthma cigarettes with you, so I won’t be stuck here worrying about if you’re out there alone having an attack with no one to help!”

Steve barely manages to catch the cigarette carton Bucky tosses at him before turning and striding away, the door to their bedroom slamming shut behind him. Steve stands there for a moment, bewildered and fuming. Sometimes, Bucky doesn’t make a damn lick of sense.

He sighs and heads to the bathroom to freshen up, using a damp rag to wipe away the dried sweat coating his skin and brushing his teeth thoroughly to wash the lingering taste out of his mouth. He catches a glimpse of himself in the cracked mirror and does a double take.

He looks  _ wrecked _ . Bucky hadn’t been lying; his lips are red and swollen, shiny with spit and rubbed raw. His cheeks are ruddy and his eyes look glazed over, and his  _ hair _ ...It’s a goddamn disaster, strands sticking up every which way, some of them still damp with sweat. If he were to go out in public right now, it would be obvious to everyone who saw him what he’s been up to.

The thought causes a zing of shameful pride to zip up his spine, and he watches as his cheeks turn even pinker in his reflection. He pointedly turns away and runs a hand through his hair, trying to tame it as best he can.

When he slinks into their room Bucky’s already in his own bed, facing the wall with his arms crossed. Steve sighs and quietly changes into his nightclothes, shooting furtive glances at Bucky as he does.

He hadn’t realized Bucky would be so worried about him going out on his own. Steve understands it—he really does—what with his penchants for fights and fits and overall trouble. But at the same time, he’s an adult. He doesn’t need constant supervision. And yes, it was dumb of him to forget his asthma cigarettes (again), but he hadn’t even needed them and everything had been perfectly fine.

The springs squeak and groan noisily as he clambers up onto his bed, pulling a light sheet up his body and snuggling under it. He lies there in silence and listens to the sound of their combined breathing until he finally feels himself start to drift off.

“G’night, Buck.”

There’s no response, and for a moment he wonders whether Bucky’s actually asleep or just ignoring him, until he hears fabric rustling as Bucky shifts. “Goodnight, you stupid punk,” he grumbles back, and Steve smiles up at the dark ceiling and lets his eyes flutter shut.

⋆⋆✰⋆⋆

“I’m sorry for yelling at you last night.”

Steve drops his hands from where he’d been blearily rubbing at his eyes and blinks away the dark spots floating in his vision. Bucky is sitting at their dining table-slash-bathtub; a steaming cup of coffee in hand, his frame backlit by the window and casting his edges in a golden glow. Steve nods at him and heads to the counter, leaning against it so the edge digs into his hip. 

“I’m sorry for forgetting my cigarettes,” he allows.

Bucky glances up at him wearily over the rim of his mug. “You alright pal? You sound like you’re getting sick.”

Steve feels his skin flush and spins around to hide it, busying himself with heating up some tea. He’d noticed that his voice was scratchier than normal last night, but Dottie had assured him that it was normal after such activities. He clears his throat in an attempt to get rid of its rasp and shrugs. “’M fine. Probably just ‘cause I just woke up.”

“But you don’t usually sound that way when you get up,” Bucky counters, sounding concerned. “And you sounded like that last night, too.”

“It’s fine,” Steve insists. “I’m sure it’s nothin’, Buck, don’t worry about it.”

Bucky grunts, and Steve glances back just in time to see him roll his eyes as he takes in another gulp of coffee. “I’ll pick up some more medicine from the store today just in case.”

Steve rolls his eyes but doesn’t protest, knowing that any attempts to do so would be futile. Bucky’ll worry about him no matter how much Steve tells him it’s unnecessary. That’s just how Bucky is.

The rest of the day passes quietly. Bucky does the grocery shopping and Steve does some cleaning, and then they both sit back on the couch and laze around for a while, Bucky with a sci-fi novel and Steve with his sketchbook. The pencil marks flow into the shape of a dress without Steve’s permission, and he blushes when he realizes he’s rendered Dottie’s dress from the night before; the page filled with vague doodles and intricately shaded drawings of it from all different angles. There’s no body to go with any of them, just the dress itself, floating and flowing across the page as if it were dancing. Bucky glances at the drawings with an unreadable expression, his jaw tense, but when Steve looks at him questioningly Bucky just shakes his head and smiles. “Looks nice,” he says gruffly, then goes back to his own book.

After dinner Steve impatiently waits for Bucky to head out for the night, wanting the chance to escape the apartment himself and return to the world of secret bars and men with painted faces. Except Bucky doesn’t go out. Instead, he very pointedly sits back on the couch and flicks on the lamp, retrieving his book from its place on the coffee table. Steve hovers in the doorway, but when Bucky shows no sign of budging anytime soon, he sighs and collapses onto the couch himself.

He knows what Bucky is doing. He’s waiting to see if Steve will head out, that way he can invite himself along and satisfy his nosy need to know exactly what Steve’s been up to. The problem with that, is that Steve doesn’t  _ want _ him to know what he’s up to. He doesn’t think Bucky would be upset about the whole queer thing, but he’d sure as hell get riled up over the danger of people finding out or a police raid on the bar. And Steve  _ knows _ , okay? He knows he’s putting himself in danger. The thing is, he just doesn’t care.

The way he sees it, he can have an asthma attack or a heart attack or god-knows-what any damn second and drop dead on the spot. His doctors hadn’t expected him to live through childhood, but he did, so he’s gonna live his life however the hell he wants, and not worry about what-if’s.

After an hour of them doing nothing Bucky glances over at him with a brow raised, his lips pressed together slightly. He rakes his gaze up and down Steve’s body in a way that makes Steve’s face heat and his thoughts go fuzzy, before focusing back on Steve’s eyes and frowning. “Wanna go out tonight?”

Steve shakes his head and clears his throat, cursing himself for always being so easy when it comes to Bucky. Just one look is all it takes to get Steve all worked up. Pathetic. “Nah. Think I’ll just stay in tonight,” he mumbles, and Bucky nods, eyeing him inscrutably.

“Yeah,” he says, “yeah, me too.”

And Steve’s a little disappointed, sure, because he really had wanted to go back to Tucker’s. But he also loves every minute he gets to spend with Bucky, cherishes every second, even if they spend it quietly, listening to the radio with books in hand. So he’s fine with this, he thinks, fine with staying in and just being together for the night. Besides, tomorrow Buck will probably get over whatever he’s being weird about and go out again, and then Steve will have his chance.

⋆⋆✰⋆⋆

Except Bucky doesn’t go out the next day, and then the weekend’s over and he goes back to work. Tucker’s doesn’t open until around the time Bucky gets off, and even though Bucky will occasionally take out a dame on a week night it’s pretty rare, and he doesn’t seem inclined to this week. In fact, he doesn’t seem inclined to go out in the evenings at all, even when Friday rolls around. By Saturday, Steve is just about vibrating with his desire to go to the bar again, and when Bucky plops himself on the armchair and reaches to turn on the radio, Steve decides that he’s had enough.

“Aren’t you going out tonight?”

Bucky glances up at him and shrugs, fiddling with the dials to find a decent station. “Dunno. Do you wanna?”

Steve huffs, because  _ yes _ , he  _ does _ want to. Just not with Bucky.

Bucky seems to pick up on that, because he frowns, a crease forming behind his scrunched eyebrows in a way that Steve has always secretly found adorable. “Why don’t you like going out with me anymore? Did I do somethin’ wrong?”

Steve plunks down on the couch across from Bucky and looks at him seriously. “No. This isn’t about you, Buck, it’s about—look, Bucky, I love spending time with you, you know that. But when we go out together, you always end up spending the whole night with some gal, and I end up alone in the corner somewhere.”

Bucky frowns harder, shoulders slumping as he rubs a hand over his chin, and looks up at Steve with big sad eyes. “Aw, jeez, Stevie, I didn’t know it was like that for you. I mean, I knew I guess, but I didn’t—Look, I’m sorry for that. I can just stay with you the whole time—”

Steve cuts him off before he can finish, smiling fondly at him and rolling his eyes. “I know you can, Buck, but then what’s the point of you going out? You love dancing with girls. Honest, Buck, it’s not a big deal. And I do enjoy taggin’ along with you sometimes, really, but I’d rather do my own thing every now and then.”

Bucky twists his lips thoughtfully, then sighs. “Fine. You’re right. We don’t gotta be together every second of every day. But we are gonna go out together sometimes, even if you wanna choose the place. And you gotta promise to take your asthma cigarettes with you. And if you start going steady with one of these girls you’ve apparently been seein’, I wanna meet her. Got it?”

Steve rolls his eyes and grins. “Fine. I got it. Now get out of here and go to some dance hall, you must by dying to swing a dame around by now.”

Bucky flashes him a quick smile and stands up, slapping Steve on the back. “Sir yes sir,” he retorts. He disappears into the bedroom and returns with his hair slicked back and his shoes on his feet and grins at Steve broadly. “I’ll see you later, punk. Stay safe. And don’t forget your cigs!”

Steve takes his time getting ready, too prideful to allow his excitement to cause him to rush. He smooths down his hair and pulls on one of his nicer shirts and idly wonders what it would be like to dress like a queen, the way Dottie does. To put on lipstick and stockings and a flowy dress. He scrunches his nose up and shakes his head to himself in the mirror. He doesn’t think that kinda thing is for him, and he doubts he could pull that kinda look off, anyhow.

To his disappointment, Dottie isn’t anywhere to be seen at the bar when he gets there. But he manages fairly well on his own, and ends the night necking with some guy named John in the back alley, their flies unzipped and their hands on each other. Afterwards, he cleans himself up in the bathroom with a smug smile tugging at his lips and a sense of accomplishment inflating his chest. So far his success rate here has been a hundred percent, and compared to his previous rate of zero with girls, he’d say he’s doing pretty damn well.

⋆⋆✰⋆⋆

Steve doesn’t go to Tucker’s every night Bucky goes out, and he doesn’t get off each time he does go either. Sometimes he just likes to sit at the bar and watch the patrons twirl around on the dance floor, soak in the atmosphere, and maybe chat up a fella or two. He’s met one or two dames there as well, ones who like making time with other girls. He hadn’t known there were girls like that, but he supposes it makes sense. Dottie drags his roommate Jennie in with him a couple times, but she always ends up ditching them at some point with a partner on her arm, males and females alike.

Sometimes he and Dottie go home together, sometimes they leave with different fellas. But Dottie always makes a point to at least talk to Steve when he’s there and share a drink with him, and before long Steve sees Dottie as one of his friends. It’s nice, to have someone outside of Bucky. Bucky’s great, Bucky’s all Steve could ever need, but sometimes… well, it’s nice to have someone else to talk to.

Steve makes acquaintance with some of the other folks there, but he doesn’t get too close. He never gives out his last name, never brings them back to his own place, and never tells them where he works or mentions Bucky in any way. The people here have an understanding, that this life is different from their personal lives and is not to be brought up outside the bar, but he figures it can’t hurt to be safe.

The best part is that Bucky doesn’t pester him about it too much anymore, though he does still wheedle Steve into going out on double dates with him. Steve doesn’t mind when the girls reject him so much now, because he knows from the string of encounters he’s had that he  _ is _ desirable; if not to them, then at least to some people.

So yeah, it’s nice, and it’s fun, and Steve genuinely enjoys himself whenever he goes out now. But secretly, foolishly, he can’t help but think that he would trade all of this, if he could just have Bucky.

⋆⋆✰⋆⋆

“I’m telling you, the best plan of action would be to befriend them!”

Steve narrowly dodges being hit in the face by Bucky’s wild gesticulations, and snorts. It’s a nice day out, not a cloud in the sky and a soft breeze in the air. A bit chilly, sure, but Steve has his coat on and with Bucky by his side and the sun on his face, he feels nice and toasty. “They’re aliens, Buck. They probably wouldn’t even speak English. How the hell are you supposed to befriend them if you can’t even communicate?”

“We can communicate without talking. I can just give them things, or point at things, or maybe draw stuff out—”

“You? Draw?” Steve jests, and Bucky throws him a glare and elbows him in the ribs.

“Hey, we can’t all be famous artists, you damn punk.”

Steve sputters and hurries to catch up with Bucky’s long strides, crossing the crosswalk they had been waiting at. “I am not famous—!”

“Your art’s in the newspaper, that’s famous enough for me. And that’s not the point. The point  _ is  _ you need to win over their favor.”

“Good luck with that,” Steve snorts, and Bucky frowns.

“Oh yeah? What would you do then, wise guy?”

“Fight them.”

Bucky’s eyebrows shoot up. “Fight them? You’re telling me you would punch an alien in the face?”

“Why not?” Steve shrugs, and Bucky rolls his eyes.

“I shoulda known. Of course your solution to any problem would be to punch it in the face.”

“Worked well enough so far,” Steve points out. Bucky shakes his head.

“This is ridiculous. You’re ridiculous. You’re gonna get yourself killed!”

Steve quirks a brow at him, amused by how worked up Bucky’s getting over this. “Good thing aliens will never invade then.”

“You don’t know that! There is no possible way we can be sure that aliens aren’t invading some part of the world as we speak!”

Steve looks at Bucky skeptically, brows drawn together. “Bucky, I’m pretty damn certain that— _ oof _ —”

Steve stumbles back, nearly losing his balance before a hand shoots out to steady him. He blinks at the wide chest he had just bumped into before trailing his gaze up to the face attached. Roth stares right back, looking equally surprised, and Steve feels a sudden blush take over his cheeks as he remembers exactly what they had gotten up to just two nights ago.

Roth clearly notices Steve getting flustered, because a smirk spreads over his lips and he tightens his grip on Steve’s arm. “Watch where you’re going, sugar,” he drawls, letting go and running his gaze up and down Steve’s figure before striding away. Steve can’t help but look back to watch him—he’s rarely seen Roth in anything but dresses since they’ve met, and the form fitting suit he’s wearing does wonders for his broad shoulders.

“You alright?”

Steve jerks back around to see Bucky frowning at him, and nods. “Yeah, sure. I’m fine.”

“You know that guy?”

Steve swallows and shakes his head. “Never talked to him before,” he says, and technically it’s not a lie. He  _ hasn’t _ talked to Roth before—only Dottie.

“Hmm,” Bucky says, sounding unconvinced. They start back down the sidewalk in silence until Bucky speaks up again. “Didn’t like the way he was lookin’ at ya.”

Steve snorts and knocks his shoulder against Bucky’s. “He was lookin’ at me the same way anyone else would.”

“Hmm,” is all Bucky says again, but he drops the subject and let’s Steve steer the conversation back to potential alien invasions.


	7. Make Up Your Mind

Bucky groans as he floats back into awareness, bringing a hand up to rub at his mouth. He rolls over and frowns at the empty bed on the other side of the room, the covers still pristine and untouched. Steve must not have made it back home last night.

He pushes away the twinge of worry in his chest and tries to remember that Steve can take care of himself. Well, most of the time. He’s been doing a lot better about remembering his cigs and not getting into as many back alley fights recently, and Bucky has to wonder if this girl Steve’s been seeing finally got the stupid punk to care about his own wellbeing—something that Bucky’s been trying to do unsuccessfully for years.

The thought tastes bitter in his mouth. He doesn’t like the idea of some dame replacing him—or worse, doing better than him—when it comes to taking care of Steve. But he also wants Steve to be happy. Hell, he wants that more than anything. And if that means holding in his discontent, then so be it.

Besides, isn’t this exactly what he had been pushing for all these years? For Steve to find some nice dame who could be there for him in all the ways he couldn’t? Bucky had  _ thought _ that that’s what he wanted...but every time Steve comes home with a smile on his face and a fresh hickey on his neck, he becomes less and less certain.

And the thing is, he doesn’t have any damn right. He knows that. He has no right to be jealous, not with how many girls he takes to bed himself, not when Steve isn’t even his in the first place. But knowing that doesn’t change the churning in his gut, the longing in his heart. At this point, he’s not sure anything can change those feelings.

He shakes himself out of his maudlin thoughts and pushes himself up and out of bed, hissing as his feet hit the cold floorboards. He pulls on his clothes for the day and hopes that Steve at least has his jacket and scarf with him, wherever he is.

⋆⋆✰⋆⋆

The front door swings open just after Bucky has finished eating breakfast. He glances back over his shoulder to see Steve shutting the door behind him, his cheeks flushed from the cold and snowflakes glittering in his hair. He has his coat on— no scarf or gloves, but at least he isn’t shivering as bad as he usually does.

“Want some breakfast? I just finished mine, but I can whip up some more eggs.”

Steve glances up at him and smiles, shaking his head as he toes off his shoes. “Thanks, but I already stopped for breakfast on my way here. Might make myself some tea in a minute, though.”

“You didn’t eat at your girl’s house?”

Steve’s skin flushes as he looks away to hang up his coat. “Nope. Just at Millie’s diner.”

Bucky nods and turns back to the dishes to hide his frown. If  _ he  _ were Steve’s girl, he would damn well make him breakfast before sending him on his way. But, well, he  _ isn’t _ Steve’s girl, and Bucky supposes it’d do him well to stop thinking that way. He’s Steve’s friend, nothing more. You would think that after half a year, he would be used to that. 

But he’s not.

Like right now, for instance. He’s hyper aware of Steve’s presence as he pads over and leans against the counter right next to Bucky, propping himself up on his tippy-toes to reach the tea box in the upper cabinet. He’s so close that Bucky can feel the heat radiating from his skin, and he just  _ knows _ that if he were to glance over he would see Steve’s shirt riding up, showing off those pretty little hips that he always loved to grip as he licked into Steve’s mouth...

“Think that plate’s as clean as it’s gonna get, Buck.”

Bucky jerks in surprise and glances at Steve, who’s staring at him with a quirked eyebrow, then back down at the plate in his hands. It’s pristine—probably has been for some time now, but Bucky had been too lost in his thoughts to notice.

He clears his throat, embarrassed at being caught, as if Steve can tell just by looking at him what he’d been thinking about. “Right.” He sets the plate on the rack and wipes it down with the towel before drying off his hands, rubbing at them harshly until the skin is red from the hot water and the friction.

“...You alright, Buck?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. I’m fine, just distracted.” 

Steve eyes him suspiciously but nods, turning back to his tea preparation. Bucky takes in a deep breath, trying to pull himself together, and frowns. Sniffs. Sniffs again.

“You smell that?”

Steve glances over at him with a confused frown. “What? I don’t smell anything.”

Bucky frowns harder and shakes his head. “Nothin’” he dismisses, only to take in another deep breath through his nose a moment later. There’s definitely a smell there, sort of musky and spicy at the same time. It’s overpowering to the point that Bucky almost wants to sneeze. Smells like cologne almost, except he and Steve use the same cologne, and it sure as hell doesn’t smell like  _ this _ .

He scrunches his brows together and swivels his head around, then zeroes his focus in on Steve. Steve stares back, looking confused and concerned.

“Buck?”

Bucky sniffs again, then sets his hands on Steve shoulders and tugs him closer, moving his nose to the crook of Steve’s neck. Steve squeaks in surprise and batts Bucky away, and Bucky pulls back to frown at him.

“It’s you!” he accuses, and Steve glares defensively.

“What’s me?”

“The smell!”

“What smell? I just took a shower last night—!”

“No, not that,” Bucky says, shaking his head. “You smell… spicy. Didja buy a new cologne or something?”

Inexplicably, Steve’s face turns bright red at the question, his eyes widening slightly in what looks like panic. “It’s nothing.”

Bucky narrows his eyes at him, and Steve hunches his shoulders defensively.

“Really, Buck, it’s nothing, don’t worry about it,” Steve rambles, and Bucky presses his lips together disapprovingly.

“The fact that you’re tellin’ me not to worry is kinda making me worried, pal.” He pauses to look at Steve expectantly, but Steve just shrugs wordlessly and rubs at the back of his neck, blush still going strong. 

“Does this have anything to do with your girl?” Bucky ventures, and sighs when Steve cringes tellingly. “Jesus, Steve, you coulda just said she bought you some instead of bein’ all weird about it.”

Steve turns back to the counter and squats down to rummage through the lower cabinet for the kettle. “You’re the one who’s being all weird about it. What’s it matter what I smell like anyways?” he points out, head hidden behind the door, halfway stuck into the cabinet.

Bucky scrunches his brows together. “I mean, it doesn’t usually. It’s just…”

“What?” Steve prompts, and Bucky wrinkles his nose.

“Well, to be honest pal, that cologne kinda stinks.” He panics for a moment, worried that maybe he just offended Steve, but Steve just barks out a laugh and pulls his head out of the cupboard, standing up with the kettle in hand.

“Yeah, it kinda does,” he agrees, smiling wryly. “I’ll take a shower later, wash it off.”

“Nice of her to buy it for you though,” Bucky hedges. 

Steve hums noncommittally and nudges Bucky aside to get to the sink. Bucky bites his lip and watches him, feeling strangely out of place. They stand in silence, only the sound of the water filling up the kettle, until Bucky’s nosiness gets the best of him. “Hey, so when do I get to meet this girl, anyways?”

Steve shoulders go tense, and Bucky’s eyes zero in on the change. “Oh, I don’t know, Buck, I’m not sure if that’s gonna happen,” Steve dismisses. Normally, this is where Bucky would back off, change the subject, and let Steve keep whatever his big secret is. But today Bucky’s starting to feel like maybe he’s had enough of being kept in the dark, maybe he misses the way they used to tell each other everything. Maybe there’s a reason Steve isn’t being straight with him.

He straightens up, squaring his shoulders subconsciously. “Why not?”

“It’s—I just don’t think it’s a good idea,” Steve flounders.

“Okay…but why? Is she someone I know? Have I taken her out before or something?”

Steve shakes his head and turns off the tap. “No, nothing like that,” he sighs, setting the kettle on the counter top and running a hand through his hair. Bucky frowns.

“Then what? Is it…?” His eyes widen. “Steve. Have you been seeing different girls each time?”

Steve glances at Bucky, then away, a wince on his features. “Something like that…” he admits, and Bucky squints at him.

Because he doesn’t think Steve would do something like that. Steve is the type of fella who dreams of romancing a girl, treating her right and taking it slow, even if she’d be perfectly willing to take him home on the first night. That’s just how Steve is with dames, always has been. And the look on Steve’s face—he’s not telling the truth right now, not completely. But what else could he be lying about? If he’s not seeing one girl steady, and he’s not taking a different gal out each night, then what else could he be doing?

Unless…

A nervous sort of energy builds up in Bucky’s chest, seeping through his bones and buzzing in his blood. That can’t be it. Surely. But what if…?

“Steve,” he says sharply, then falters when Steve looks back up at him nervously, almost guiltily. He changes his tone, making it softer, more hesitant. “It’s— whoever you’ve been making time with…they are  _ girls _ , right?”

Steve seems to hunch in on himself for a moment before drawing back up, posture straight and rigid as he stares at Bucky with a glint of challenge in his eyes. It’s the same damn look he gets when he’s about ready to start a back alley fight, except this time his hands are shaking slightly at his sides where they’re clenched into fists. Bucky swallows.

“Steve—” he starts, but he doesn’t get much farther before Steve squares his shoulders and cuts him off.

“So what if they aren’t?”

Bucky stares at him, completely thrown off kilter. This isn’t how this conversation was supposed to go. Steve was supposed to have finally opened up to Bucky about the sweet little dame he had snagged and start gushing about her and her perfection, and Bucky was supposed to be able to soothe his aching heart with the knowledge that at least Steve was safe and happy. “I just—why would you—you aren’t supposed to—”

“Supposed to what? Be queer?” Steve bites out. “Well I’m sorry to break it to you, Buck, but I am, and whether or not I’m supposed to be won’t change a damn thing about it.”

“But you like dames!” Bucky blurts out helplessly.

“I do,” Steve allows. “Just so happens that I like cock, too.”

Bucky nearly chokes on his own spit at the blunt words, gaping at Steve as if he’s never seen him before. Steve glares back defiantly, lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment all Bucky can think about is those lips on another man. The image makes his gut swirl with interest and his stomach churn with jealousy at the same time, and he snaps his mouth shut and shakes his head. “This is—I needta think about this,” he stutters out, then turns around and flees to the bedroom, shutting the door tight behind himself before leaning back against it. He stays there for a moment, trying to get his thoughts in order, before slouching over to his bed and slumping down onto the edge of it.

He’s not sure what to think about all this. It had been bad enough to picture Steve with a dame, but at least then he could delude himself into thinking that it was better that way. He could stamp down his longing with the knowledge that Steve was safer that way, and fool himself into thinking that he’d eventually grow out of his desires for Steve and be happy for him. He’d been willing to look past his own love if it meant keeping Steve out of danger.

But now… well, he hasn’t been keeping Steve out of danger at all, has he? If anything, Steve had been in  _ more  _ danger, picking up random fellas from god-knows-where and going to bed with them.

Bucky’s gut curls in on itself again. He wonders what exactly Steve has done in those beds, whether he liked it. He must have, Bucky supposes, to keep going back out in search of it night after night. He sure as hell enjoyed what they used to do together, and they only ever necked and got each other off with fumbling hands.

Has Steve done more with these other fellas? Bucky wouldn’t see why not—the only reason they never had was at Bucky’s own insistence.

He’s not sure how long he sits there, running through each and every memory of every time Steve has come home from a night out the past several months, torturing himself by trying to picture exactly what he did and where he did it and who he did it with. Bucky hadn’t known it was possible to be jealous, hurt, and turned on all at the same time, but here he is.

He jolts himself up from his slouch when the door creaks open. Steve slips in and nudges it shut behind himself, and they just stare at each other wordlessly for a moment before Steve sighs. He looks a strange mixture of angry and defeated, and his expression is resigned when he glances up at Bucky through his lashes.

“So should I start packing my stuff up then?”

Bucky blinks, because of all the things he’d thought Steve might say, it hadn’t been that.

“Packing?” he parrots dumbly. “For what?”

Steve glares at him flatly. “For moving.”

Bucky stands up, mouth falling open in alarm. “You’re  _ moving _ ?” he exclaims worriedly, and Steve shrugs at him, still looking guarded and weary.

“I dunno,” he says, voice hard and eyes narrowed. “Depends on whether or not you’re kicking me out.”

“Kicking you—Steve! I wouldn’t kick you out over something like this! I wouldn’t kick you out ever, at all!”

Some of the tension Steve had been carrying drains from his shoulders, his expression softening. “Okay. Good,” he mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck. Jesus, the fact that Steve even thought that was something he’d need to worry about…

Bucky purses his lips and slaps his hand on Steve’s shoulder to reel him into a hug. Steve tenses at first, then melts into the embrace, burying his face in the crook of Bucky’s neck.

“You’re not mad that I’m queer, then?” he asks, the words muffled against Bucky’s skin. Bucky shakes his head and pulls back enough to look at Steve.

“No, Stevie. I wouldn’t be cross with ya over something like that.”

Steve looks at his eyes searchingly and nods, then squints. “You are upset about something, though.”

Bucky winces and pulls back, shrugging with one shoulder. “I am,” he admits. “But not with you.” Steve quirks an eyebrow and Bucky shakes his head, waving a hand dismissively and forcing a smile. “Don’t worry about it. It’s stupid.”

“You’re stupid,” Steve retorts. Bucky inclines his head.

“Sometimes,” he agrees, and Steve glares at him.

“Shut up. You aren’t.”

“You just said—!”

“I was joking,” Steve interrupts, then pauses. “Well, mostly. What are you upset about?”

Bucky sighs and sits back down on the bed, running his hand up his face and through his hair. Steve is like a dog with a bone when it comes to wheedling information outta Bucky sometimes, and Bucky can tell already that this is going to be one of those times. Steve has that look in his eyes, the one that says he won’t let it go and will probably just get more and more annoying if Bucky doesn’t let on. 

“It’s nothing,” he starts out, “really, it’s stupid, but I just…” Steve nods encouragingly and Bucky sighs again, looking down at his shoes. “I’m jealous,” he mumbles.

“What?”

Bucky glances up at Steve, not sure if Steve is just trying to get him to admit it out loud again, but Steve looks honestly confused.

“I’m jealous,” he says again, voice just barely a fraction louder than the first time. 

Steve scrunches his eyebrows and blinks at him. “You’re right. That is stupid.” He sits on the bed next to Bucky and frowns at him. “What are you even jealous of? You get more action than I do. And you don’t even like fellas. And even if you did, you could get any queer fella you wanted.”

Bucky takes in a deep breath and finally admits the one thing he’s only ever barely been able to admit to himself. “I do,” he says firmly. “Like fellas. But it’s not them I want...it’s you.”

Steve’s expression morphs from confusion to realization to anger in quick succession, and Bucky shrinks back under the weight of Steve’s glare. “Bucky, if you think this is funny, I—”

“I don’t! I’m not—I—I like you, Steve. Hell, I more than like you. Like, might actually be in love with you, maybe. Always have been.”

“Since when?” Steve bites out. “Because if I remember correctly, which I’m sure I do,  _ you’re _ the one who was willing to end things just to keep going out with dames. You’re the one who was always talkin’ about how we were ‘only fooling around’ and how it ‘didn’t mean anything.’ You’re the one who clammed up whenever I even  _ hinted _ at doing anything romantic—”

“I know! I know that, okay, and I’m sorry, and knowing what I know now, I wish I could go back in time and undo all of it. But I just—I needed to keep you safe, Stevie,” he implores, looking at Steve pleadingly. “If I have one job on this earth it’s that. I’ve gotta keep you safe, no matter the cost, even if it means puttin’ aside my own desires and lyin’ to ya. You don’t understand how—”

He cuts himself off and works his jaw, trying to compose himself. It doesn’t really work. “The guys down at the docks? They used to joke about killing queers. It scared the shit outta me, Steve, and I didn’t wanna risk—I couldn’t—But then—Well, I guess I thought if we played it safe we would be fine. So when you wanted more I got scared again, but then you went and found more with other fellas anyhow so I guess it doesn’t matter. And now it’s too late because I fucked it all up and now you’ve moved on and I gotta watch you be happy doing what we coulda been doing all along with other fellas, so yeah, Steve, I’m a little upset, but like I said, it’s stupid.”

Bucky finally pauses to take in a breath and winces, covering his face with his hands. Silence hangs in the room like a wet sheet and Bucky wishes he could just rewind time and take it all back. He’s so  _ stupid,  _ and he has  _ no right _ , and now Steve is gonna  _ hate him _ —

“Buck.”

Bucky shakes his head behind his hands and tries to keep hiding from the world, but Steve doesn’t let him.

“Bucky,” he says again, voice soft, “will you just look at me? Please?”

Bucky drops his hands because his spine’s as weak as a toothpick when it comes to denying Steve anything. Steve’s expression is exasperated, almost fond, and his voice is solemn when he speaks.

“You are an idiot, Bucky Barnes.”

Bucky grimaces miserably. “Yeah. I know,” he grumbles. 

Steve’s lips twitch up into a smile before he recomposes himself. “You’re an idiot,” he repeats, “and you’re damn lucky that I love you enough to overlook it.”

“I know, I—” Bucky freezes, processes what Steve had said. He blinks. “ _ Love _ me?”

Steve just nods, a smile gleaming in his eyes. Bucky stares at him.

“Like… _ love _ \- love me?” he double checks. Steve rolls his eyes.

“Yes, Buck,” he sighs, “ _ love- _ love you.”

“Oh,” Bucky says, then panics when Steve quirks an eyebrow at him. “I do too! Love-love you, that is. Um…”

Steve grins and shakes his head, fisting a hand in the front of Bucky’s shirt and tugging him forwards. Bucky goes willingly, following the momentum until Steve’s hand on his chest stops him just a breath short of Steve’s face. They’re so close that Bucky has to cross his eyes to look at Steve’s plush lips, then back up to his eyes and down to his lips again. 

“Just shut up and kiss me, Bucky,” Steve orders, his words ghosting over Bucky’s mouth. 

Bucky tips his head forwards, and does.

He sighs at the first brush of their lips, savoring the feeling of finally having Steve’s mouth against his after so long without it. Dames are nice and all, but they just aren’t the same. Their soft curves just can’t compete with Steve’s sharp edges, Bucky thinks, and then Steve is pressing forward harder and opening the seam of his lips, and any thoughts of dames are wiped from Bucky’s mind.

God, he’s missed this. Bucky wraps his hands around Steve’s hips and yanks him closer, tilting his head just right to get another angle. It’s amazing, he marvels, as he licks across Steve’s teeth. Aces, he thinks as he switches to nip at Steve’s jawline. Perfect, he thinks, as Steve gasps against him...Or at least it is, right up until the moment he breathes in deep and gets a strong whiff of that damn cologne.

He growls against Steve’s skin and hauls him closer, all the way into his lap, before standing up from the bed completely. Steve makes a squeaky noise in the back of his throat and locks his cute little ankles together behind Bucky’s back, hands clinging tight to Bucky’s neck.

“Buck, what—you know I feel ‘bout you carryin’ me—”

“I know that you love it,” Bucky decrees smugly into the crook of Steve’s neck, licking a broad stripe against that spot just under Steve’s ear that drives him crazy.

“Shaddup,” Steve gasps, skin turning hotter beneath Bucky’s lips, and Bucky grins.

He keeps kissing on Steve as he expertly guides them through the hall and out into the kitchen. He peeks over at their make-shift dining table to be sure that it’s clear before nudging the slab of wood off of the tub with his hip, letting it clatter to the floor with a racket. Steve pulls back enough to glance over at it, then looks back at Bucky and squints at him.

“What’re you doin’, Buck?”

“We’re taking a bath,” Bucky declares firmly, and Steve frowns.

“Okay… why?” he persists, and Bucky huffs and kisses him soundly again.

“Because,” he says as he pulls back again, both of them flushed and slick lipped, “you still smell like some other fella’s cologne, and it’s drivin’ me insane.”

Steve gets a glint in his eye that always means trouble and leans in to kiss Bucky, humming thoughtfully. “You want me to smell like you instead, Buck?” he purrs against Bucky’s lips. “Want to make it so any man who gets close enough to me will smell your cologne and your musk and get the message to back the hell off?”

Bucky groans, and it’s stupid, really, because he and Steve always share the same bottle of cologne, and it’s not like any guy who smelled Steve would even know whether or not he smelt like Bucky at all, but still. The thought of that, of everyone knowing that Stevie belonged to him, and that he belonged to Steve…Well, it gets him going apparently, if the way his pants just got tighter is any indication.

Steve smiles against Bucky’s lips and works his way down to Bucky’s jaw, scratching against Bucky’s morning stubble. “Yeah, you’d like that,” he mumbles. “Want other fellas to know that I’m yours, huh?”

“Want everyone to know,” Bucky replies honestly, flexing his fingers tighter against Steve’s hips. “’N I want ‘em to know that I’m yours, too. Fuck, I’d put a ring on your finger if I could, Stevie.”

Steve freezes against him and pulls back, and for a moment Bucky’s terrified that he’s said too much too soon and managed to scare Steve away already. But Steve just squints at him, scrutinizing, and scrunches his eyebrows together. “You mean that?” he asks softly, and Bucky gulps but nods.

“Yeah. Yeah, ‘course I do. You’d make the prettiest bride in all of Brooklyn.”

“ _ You’d _ be the bride,” Steve snipes, and Bucky grins.

“Sure, doll. Whatever you want. I’d put on a dress for you any day.”

He means it as a joke, just something to lighten the mood, but then Steve’s pupils dilate and he licks his lips and Bucky feels his eyes go wide. 

“I’d like that,” Steve admits, voice husky, and then Bucky’s lips are being smothered once again.

Eventually Bucky has to set Steve down so he can start filling up the tub and retrieve their bath bucket from under the cabinet and strip out of their clothes. They keep pausing to grope and kiss at each other, but they get it done and before long the tub is ready and all they have to do is figure out how to get in.

“It’s pretty small, Buck,” Steve says dubiously. “Are you sure we’re both gonna fit?”

“’Course we are! You’ll barely take up any room, anyhow,” he jabs playfully, and Steve shoots Bucky a glare that informs him that he’ll pay for that remark sooner or later.

Bucky gets in first, his back propped up against one side, and then Steve clambers in after, facing Bucky so that they can resume their kissing and bickering and necking. Which they do, neither of them wanting to waste any more time without their lips on each other. What start out as gentle kisses turn heated, and it’s not long before they’re rolling their hips together, the water lapping at the lips of the tub and sloshing over with their movements.

It’s great, perfect, and it gets even better when Steve slips a hand between their stomachs and shows off all the new tricks he musta been learning from the other fellas. Bucky’s eyes want to scrunch shut in pleasure but he doesn’t let them, intent on drinking in the sight of Steve. He’s beautiful like this—always is, of course—but when he’s like this it’s something different, something breathtaking, with his skin all flush and his lips red and slick and his pretty blue eyes so blown they look black. The pure adoration and lust Bucky’s sure is shining in his own eyes is enough to make Steve flush even pinker, and Bucky smiles at the sight and draws Steve back in for another searing kiss.

They’re both so worked up that it doesn’t take long for them to get lost in a state of bliss, both of them floating through the after-glow in the warm water, relaxed and utterly content. At some point Bucky blindly grabs for a bar of soap and a washcloth from the bath bucket and dips them into the water, rubbing the soap across Steve’s bony chest until they’re both covered in suds.

Bucky hums in pleasure while Steve sucks a mark onto his collarbone, still idly working the soap across the planes of Steve’s back. “I missed this,” he murmurs, and Steve smiles against his skin.

“Yeah,” he says, pulling back, “me too.”

Bucky burrows his face into the crook of Steve’s neck and breathes in the scent of him, smiling smugly when all he gets is freshness and sweat and Steve’s signature musk. “You don’t smell like him anymore,” he pronounces proudly.

Steve rolls his eyes and threads his hands into Bucky’s hair to not-so-subtly guide him back up into a kiss. Bucky lets him; follows the unspoken command for a few moments before a question starts niggling at the back of his mind.

“What was his name?”

Steve scrunches his eyebrows disapprovingly. “I ain’t gonna tell you that, Buck.”

Bucky grumbles but doesn’t argue, just nuzzles his nose into Steve’s hair and brings the bar of soap up to scrub it through the strands. He watches the suds lather up and make Steve’s hair stick up every which way, and runs a list of all the men he knows in their neighborhood through his mind, trying to suss out which ones might be queer, which ones might have had Steve between their sheets.

“Do I know him?” he asks, and Steve pulls back, looking concerned and a little annoyed.

“Does it really bother you that much? To know that I’ve been with other fellas?”

Bucky pauses, thinks about it. It had bugged him before, when he thought he’d missed his chance, but now that he knows how Steve feels about him it doesn’t sting quite so much. And really, all he’s ever wanted was for Steve to be happy, and it seems as though he’s been enjoying himself these past few months to say the least. Bucky can’t resent him for that, for getting out and exploring. 

“Not really,” he says eventually. “Guess I just don’t like thinkin’ about all the time we wasted just ‘cause I couldn’t pull my head outta my ass. And… well, I guess I might find it kinda weird, if one of the fellas you made time with was one of my friends, or a coworker, or something like that.”

Steve hums, relaxing slightly and tipping his head towards Bucky’s hand, which is still massaging at his scalp and working the soap around. “Nah, you haven’t met ‘im. Don’t think you’ve met any of them. Well, actually… remember a couple months back, when I bumped into some fella on the street when we were out?”

Bucky frowns and racks his brain. “Not really? Sounds kinda familiar, I guess, but you bump into fellas all the time.”

“Well, far as I know he’s the only one you’ve met. He’s a queen, and his name is Roth but he goes by Dottie. He’s nice,” Steve adds with a shrug, “we’re friends, I think.”

“You have lotsa friends like that?”

“A few,” Steve admits.

Bucky nods slowly. “You’ll have to introduce me to ‘em someday.” He pauses, hesitates, because he sure as hell doesn’t wanna sound like he’s giving Steve orders because there’s no way in hell Steve would put up with that for a second. “If you want to, that is,” he amends, and Steve smiles at him.

“I want to. It’d be fun, I think, takin’ you to the bar.” 

Bucky pulls Steve into a soft kiss, and Steve smiles against his lips. When he pulls back he pauses, looking slightly concerned. “It’s—you won’t care, right? If I keep going to Tucker’s?”

“Nah,” Bucky says, shaking his head. “Nah, I wouldn’t mind, so long as you’re safe. And… well, now that I know, I think I’d like to go with ya sometimes, check it out.”

“You just wanna keep an eye on me,” Steve accuses knowingly, and Bucky grins unrepentantly.

“Well, duh. ‘S my job. And…” He chews on his lip for a moment, watching Steve’s eyes flit down to follow the movement. “I mean, you aren’t gonna make time with other fellas anymore, right?” he asks nervously.

Steve tilts his head, and tips his chin up, narrowing his eyes. “Depends. Are you gonna keep makin’ time with dames?” he retorts, and Bucky shakes his head eagerly.

“No, course not! I was mostly just going out with them to keep my mind offa you. And to dance, of course, but I don’t hafta do that anymore—”

“No, you should,” Steve interrupts. “You love dancin’, Buck, you don’t gotta give that up for me. Just ‘s long as you come home to me every night.”

“I will,” Bucky vows. “No place I’d rather be.”


	8. Fire of Devotion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally at the epilogue! Thank you for sticking around so long, I hope you've enjoyed it so far.

“There he is,” Steve says, tugging at the sleeve of Bucky’s dress shirt to get his attention. The dance floor is packed tonight—lively, just how Bucky likes it—and he’s dying to take Steve for a spin no matter how many bruises on his toes he’ll suffer from. Bucky tears his eyes away from the whooshing and twirling dresses on the dance floor to glance down at him; a soft smile rising to his lips at the sight of Steve, looking all dolled up in one of his nicer outfits. He’d tried to slick his hair back too, but Steve’s cowlick is nearly as hard to tame as Steve himself, and the gel had been fighting a losing battle from the beginning. Steve had growled in frustration back in their bathroom, glaring at it in the mirror while Bucky watched from the doorway, but Bucky had managed to calm him down by stepping in behind him and nuzzling into his neck.

“I want to look nice for our date tonight,” Steve had groused, and Bucky had just smiled charmingly at his reflection and kissed his temple.

“You always look nice, doll,” he’d reassured. “Besides, you got me wrapped around those pretty little fingers of yours anyhow. You could wear a wine barrel and I’d still know that I’ve caught the best fella in all of Brooklyn.”

A sharp elbow catches Bucky in the ribs, and he yelps and blinks back into focus to see Steve glaring at him. “Are you even paying attention?”

“Huh?” Bucky responds eloquently. Steve tries to look disapproving, he really does, but his affection leaks into his expression and gives him away. He doesn’t deign Bucky with a response, just looks up and waves at someone. Bucky follows his gaze to see Dottie approaching, looking flawless as always.

“Dottie!” Steve greets when he’s in hearing range, “I’m glad you’re here tonight, I wanna introduce you to someone.” He grabs Bucky’s hand and pointedly tugs him closer, until Bucky smiles and obligingly twines their fingers together.

Dottie frowns and quirks an eyebrow, glancing between the two of them. “Who, Bucky? Steve, I’ve met Bucky dozens of times—”

“I know, but it’s different this time,” Steve insists, glowing and grinning from ear to ear. He pauses to take in a deep breath and glance at Bucky, and the love shining clear in his eyes takes Bucky’s breath away, just like it does every time.

“Dottie,” Steve begins—dramatically, because how else would Steven Grant Rogers begin anything? — and holds up their entwined hands so that the simple gold rings they’re wearing catch the light. “...I’d like you to meet Bucky Barnes. My husband.”

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is levicastho. Come say hi and obsess over stucky with me.


End file.
